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“ DN E Y drew a long breath of 

relief and fell to ponderinq the 
situation." Frontispiece. See page 8. 


SIDNEY : HER SUMMER ON 
THE ST. LAWRENCE 


BY 

ANNA CHAPIN RAY 

AUTHOR OF “ TEDDY : HER BOOK/’ “ PHEBE : HER PROFESSION,” 

“Ursula’s freshman,” “Nathalie’s sister,” 

“by the good SAINTE ANNE,” ETC. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM DRAWINGS BY 
ALICE BARBER STEPHENS 


BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1905 




V 


UBRARYof ;)ONaf?ess? 
fwu Oopic^i 

AUG 28 lyUb 

Oopynjjni cjiuy 

CZ^,^. JlS. 

AACi Ww 

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COPY B. 

fff- I— i r 1 


Copyright y 1905, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


All rights reserved 


Published October, 1905 


Univebsity Press, Cambridge, U.S.A. 


LIST OP ILLUSTEATIONS 


“ Sidney drew a long breath of relief and fell to ^ 

pondering the situation ” Frontispiece 

“ Wade developed the habit of dropping in now ^ 

and then to spend an hour with Madame ” Page 51 

“ Sidney sat with her thoughtful eyes fixed upon ^ 

the valley at her feet ” “ 87 

For the past week the steamer chair had been 

the focal point of the young people ” . . “ 165 






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SIDNEY: HER SUMMER ON 
THE ST. LAWRENCE 


CHAPTER ONE 

W ITH a sudden snap, as of a testy J unebug, 
Bungay straightened himself with his 
head in Sidney’s lap, and waved one plump leg 
out of the open window of the sleeping-car. 

‘‘Good-by, everybody. We ’re going to Auntie 
Jack’s house, and I’ve tored a nawful hole in my 
new stocking. ” 

Then the train moved out of the station, and 
an unfeeling porter closed the window, to the 
manifest disapproval of Bungay, who liked the 
fumes of the tunnel. 

“We shall smother ourselves,” he explained. 
“It’s going to be night pretty soon, too, and I 
always sleep with my window open.” 

The porter in his turn sought to explain. 

“But you don’t want all that black smoke 
inside the car, sonny.” 

“I ain’t sonny, and I don’t see why you should 
mind black smoke,” he retorted curtly. 

Sidney interposed. 

“ Bungay ! ” she said warningly. 

1 


2 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Yes, I know; but it won’t show any on him.” 
Then hastily Bungay changed the subject. “And 
now let’s talk about what we’ll do when we get 
to Auntie Jack’s.” 

Nevertheless, the porter bore no malice. He 
had met irrepressible four-year-olds before in the 
course of his travels. Moreover, his palm had 
been crossed with silver by Bungay’s father. It 
was still early in the season and passengers were 
few. He lingered beside Bungay’s section. 

“Where does yo’ Auntie Jack live, suh ? ” he 
queried. 

The accent of respect mollified Bungay, who 
promptly braced his knee against Sidney’s ribs 
and pried himself about to face his questioner. 

“ She lives in Canada now, and she ’s got three 
children and a half.” 

“ What ’s tuk off the rest of him ? ” the porter 
asked sympathetically. 

“Nothing hasn’t. He’s all there. You see, 
Kuth ’s her whole child and so ’s Paul, and he ’s 
their half-brother,” Bungay made elaborate ex- 
planation. “Then he ’s her half-child, of course. 
He is n’t very well, thank you, and my mamma has 
bought Auntie J ack a blue silk petti — ” 

Once more Sidney felt herself moved to inter- 
pose. This time, moreover, she did so with con- 
summate tact. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


3 


“ Bungay, ” she asked abruptly ; do you happen 
to remember where we put that box of biscuits ? ” 
Bungay did happen to remember, and forthwith 
he subsided into a crumbly and contented silence, 
while his sister drew a sigh of relief. She ap- 
proved children who answered when they were 
spoken to, without waiting for the coy inquiry as 
to whether they had lost their tongues. Never- 
theless, now and then, she found herself wishing 
that Bungay had a few reservations. Bungay, she 
told herself, fairly revelled in prolixity of detail. 

Half an hour later, Bungay was again smiling 
up into the porter’s face. 

“ My name is Maurice Dalhousie Bungay Stayre, 
and this is my sister, Sidney Stayre; but they 
call me Bungay for short.” 

The porter smiled deprecatingly, for he read 
disapproval in Sidney’s face. 

“ What makes them call you Bungay ? ” he asked. 
“Because. And we are going to spend two 
months with Auntie Jack. She asked us, and 
mamma said I might go, if I would n’t tease for a 
second help of salad. She says it is n’t good for 
my ’gestion to eat so much salad. Sidney may 
eat all she wants. I s’pose that ’s because she 
does n’t have any ’gestion. ” 

“ Bungay, don’t you want another biscuit ? ” 
Sidney queried hurriedly. 


4 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


But Bungay cast upon her a chiding glance. 

“It’s only goops that interrupt,” he admon- 
ished her. “You told me that, your own self, 
just this morning.” Then he faced the porter 
once more. “ Where ’s the bed ? ” he asked. 

“The bed?” 

“Yes, the bed you make up out of the wall. 
My papa told me how you did it. He said you 
turned a knob and let down a bed and there 
’twas, all a pretty little bedroom with two pil- 
lows and a Tectric light.” 

“That will come by and by, suh. ” 

“When?” 

“After dark. ” 

“ But I want it now. I ’m ercustomed to go to 
bed before dark, and I want to see the bedroom,” 
Bungay observed with dignity. “I’d like the 
bedroom now, please, and then I ’ll put my pa- 
jamas on, and Sidney will put — ” 

But the porter was a man of discretion; he 
realized that his duty called him to the rear plat- 
form. Aloud and at length Bungay bemoaned 
his departure. 

“ What for did he go, Sidney ? I was just talk- 
ing to him, and I wish he had n’t goed. ” 

“ Talk to me instead, dear. ” 

“No; I’d rather talk to him, his mouth looks 
so funny when he talks back. Your mouth 


ON THE ST LAWRENCE 


5 


doesn’t look funny any; but maybe it would, if 
the rest of your face was black. What do you 
suppose his name is ? ” 

But Sidney was busy with the discarded biscuit 
box. 

“Sambo,” she said, with absent-minded con- 
viction. 

Bungay looked up alertly. 

“ When did he tell you ’bout that ? ” 

“He didn’t tell me.” 

“Then how did you know ? ” 

And Sidney made answer, as she tugged at a 
string which was just too short to reach around 
the box, — 

“ Oh, I could n’t help knowing it. ” 

There was a short silence while Sidney wrestled 
with the string and Bungay wrestled with a wholly 
new idea. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if you were a very smart 
girl,” he observed at length. “What do you sup- 
pose Auntie Jack is doing now ? ” 

Sidney made a swift mental calculation. It was 
now five o’clock. They were due at their jour- 
ney’s end at three, the next afternoon. Twenty- 
two hours of Bungay’s society, and, on an average, 
Bungay could demand, and receive, the answers 
to eleven questions a minute. Eleven times sixty 
times twenty-two ! And Sidney was just sixteen, 


6 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


and this was her first long journey. Even the 
possible delights of a summer in Canada lost 
something of their charm, as she contemplated 
the intervening period. In the matter of interro- 
gation points, the Westminster Catechism was as 
nothing in comparison with Maurice Dalhousie 
Stayre. 

Nevertheless, in spite of her misgivings, Sid- 
ney had given alert assent to the question as to 
whether her aunt’s invitation should be accepted. 
The Stayres were quite too numerous for the 
paternal income to provide summer journeyings 
for them all. They extended in a long flight 
from sixteen-year-old Sidney down to four-year- 
old Maurice, and Mr. Stayre, who made up in 
cleverness for what he lacked in business ability, 
was assistant editor of a daily paper. His wife, 
meanwhile, lived upon the glory of his potential 
reputation, taught her seven children to tell the 
truth and keep their elbows off the table, and 
devoted to mending their clothes such time and 
energy as was left to her after mending their 
morals and their manners. 

According to the Blue Book of her home city. 
Auntie Jack was Mrs. John Addison, born Stayre, 
wife of a lawyer famous in criminal cases the 
State over. According to the same authority, 
her summer home was in the Berkshire hills; 


OiV THE ST. LAWRENCE 


7 


nevertheless, it was to Canada that she had bidden 
her young niece and nephew, and it was to Canada 
now that niece and nephew were hastening as fast 
as the express train could carry them. 

“Don’t fail to let me have Bungay,” Auntie 
Jack had written to Mrs. Stayre. “Ruth needs 
somebody to play with, and it is no more to take 
care of two children than one. And I am longing 
to have Judith and Sidney know each other. So 
near of an age and cousins, they can’t fail to be 
good friends. As for Wade, you don’t need to 
worry about him, for the doctors say that he can- 
not possibly be a source of danger to any one. 
My love to the children, and tell Sidney to start 
as soon as possible after the twenty -eighth. ” 

It was now the thirtieth. The great trunk 
had been packed and strapped and borne away by 
the expressman, and, almost before she realized 
it, Sidney herself was being borne away by the 
north-bound train. She would have liked time 
to realize the fact of her departure ; but there had 
been the answering the babel of farewells from 
her father and mother and the five intermediate 
Stayres, and there had been the need of suppress- 
ing Bungay who, his sentimental good-bys said, 
was rioting among the hand luggage in a vain 
search for his flannel elephant. Then the porter 
had claimed his attention, and there had been the 


8 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


need of a second suppression. By the time that 
had been accomplished, Sidney was ready to sink 
back at her ease, while she counted over thq tale 
of heY* hand luggage to see that nothing had 
escaped her. In planning for the journey, she 
had determined to limit her belongings to her 
umbrella and one small bag. Unfortunately, she 
had taken no account oE the belongings of Bungay. 
They increased the list by a box of biscuits, 
another box of miscellaneous lunch, and a lop- 
eared Boston bag whence protruded the corner of 
a book, the flannel trunk of his elephant and the 
end of his xylophone. Bungay had laid especial 
stress upon the need of having the xylophone 
within easy reach. 

“We wants it to bemuse Jumbo, if he doesn’t 
sleep good in the bedroom car,” he insisted, and 
Sidney had yielded, merely because the xylophone 
would be far less discordant than Bungay himself, 
in case he discovered its absence. 

But even the excitement of a journey is bound 
to have its reaction. The questions ceased, and 
Bungay dropped into an open-mouthed doze, his 
flannel Jumbo clasped in his arms, and its cracker 
prototype crumbled in the hollow of his pudgy fist 
Then, for the first time since the arrival of her 
aunt’s letter, Sidney drew a long breath of relief 
and fell to pondering the situation. 


ON .THE ST. LA WRENCE 


9 


To her girlish mind, the situation was a subject 
meet for much pondering. Even at its dullest, 
life holds, all things within reach of the mental 
grasp of a girl of just sixteen. The trivial round 
sends out all manner of salient angles to her who 
is ready to seize them, and Sidney’s grasp was an 
eager one. Only the year^ before, she had been 
bidden to the library, one night, to be told that 
she was to be put into a famous uptown school. 
She was too elated to think of the discrepancy 
between even her moderate, expenses as day pupil 
and the careful economy of the large household 
whose income was far too narrow to meet the 
demands of its social position. She calmly ac- 
cepted her father’s statement that she must pre- 
pare herself for the college course which he hoped 
one day to give her, and she plunged into her new 
life with the zest of a healthy girl. All winter 
long, she had revelled in the organized routine of 
work and play, making friendships and enmities 
which she fondly imagined were to outlast her 
lifetime, and, meanwhile, rapidly winning her way 
to a position of some prominence even among 
the critical circle of the boarders who were sup- 
posed to rule all things, in so far as public opinion 
was concerned. 

The winter ended, she had been making up her 
mind to adapt herself to the relative monotony of 


10 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


an uneventful and wholly domestic summer, when 
her aunt’s letter had come, asking herself and 
Bungay to spend the summer in the cottage she 
had hired on the banks of the broad St. Law- 
rence. Auntie Jack had been unable to find a 
house small enough for the necessities of her 
immediate family. There was room to spare 
and, moreover, she had theories in regard to the 
need that cousins should know one another. It 
was manifestly impossible for her to add seven 
Stayres to her summer establishment. She con- 
tented herself with the ends of the series, and 
looked forward complacently to the happy weeks 
which must inevitably grow out of such a^ combi- 
nation. Unfortunately, she took no heed of the 
fact that cousins are not always kin. 

Notwithstanding certain misgivings in regard 
to Bungay, Sidney’s anticipations were altogether 
rosy. Auntie Jack had made several flying visits 
to New York, and the girl had gained a hearty 
liking for the dainty little woman whose dress 
and manner so plainly betokened the graciousness 
gained from easy, care-free living. Auntie Jack 
was an established fact in Sidney’s life. Auntie 
Jack’s children were still matters of some uncer- 
tainty. There were four of them, five-year-old 
Ruth, Paul, and Judith who had escaped being 
her own twin by the narrow margin of a single 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


11 


week. Judith had been at boarding-school, and 
knew the technical terms of basket-ball. Sidney 
was sure of her ground there. She felt some un- 
certainty in regard to Paul ; but she looked for- 
ward to Ruth as a possible outlet for some of the 
superfluous vitality bottled up in Bungay. To 
the fourth child, or half-child, as Bungay termed 
him, she vouchsafed scarcely a thought. He was 
quite old, fully ten years older than herself. He 
had started to be a lawyer like his stepfather; 
but something had gone wrong with his health, 
and it was on his account that Auntie Jack had 
turned 4^er back upon the place in the Berkshires 
and buried herself in the little French hamlet 
where social life was not, and where one slept, 
all summer long, with four blankets on one’s bed 
and a fifth within easy reach. For the rest, 
Sidney was uncertain whether the eyes or the 
brain of Wade Winthrop were at fault; but she 
cherished the romantic hope that the trouble had 
had its origin in his having been crossed in love. 

At New Haven, Bungay wakened into sudden 
garrulity. 

“Is that man Mr. Auntie Jack ? ” he demanded, 
as a broad-shouldered, blond man followed his 
suitcase into the opposite section. 

“Hush, dear. No,” Sidney admonished him 
hastily. 


12 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


What for should I hush ? Auntie J ack is a 
nice lady, and he ’s got just the same kind of an 
umbrella handle and blue eyes. Where ’s he 
going ? ’’ 

“I don’t know.” Sidney felt her cheeks grow- 
ing crimson, as she turned away from meeting the 
stranger’s merry eyes. 

‘‘ Do you suppose he ’s going to see his Auntie 
Jack ? ” Bungay pursued alertly. 

“ Bungay dear, look out of the window and see 
that pretty spotty horse. ” 

“ I don’t care about spotty horses, and you can’t 
see only his legs, anyhow. What do you suppose 
his name is ? ” 

“Dobbin,” Sidney suggested, with a desperate 
endeavour to focus Bungay’s attention upon the 
scene outside. “Just see that — ” 

But Bungay, elephant in hand, dived past her 
and festooned himself over the arm of the oppo- 
site seat. 

“Is your name Dobbin really and truly?” he 
demanded of the stranger who was already draw- 
ing a magazine from his suitcase. 

The stranger looked up with a smile. 

“No, youngster; I am sorry to say that it is 
not.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“Duncan Ogilvie.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


18 


Bungay edged a step nearer ; but his accent took 
on a minor key, as if of disappointment. 

“Oh, I thought it was Dobbin.” 

“ What made you think that ? ” 

Bungay brandished his elephant accusingly to- 
wards his sister, although he took careful heed not 
to meet her warning glance. 

“Sidney told me so.” 

Duncan Ogilvie cast one amused look across 
the aisle, and saw a young girl, comely, hearty 
and blushing to the tips of her ears. The one 
look assured him that her gown was simple and 
becoming, that she had pretty feet and that her 
head, just then, was rather aggressively erect. 
Then his eyes dropped to the chubby face at his 
elbow. 

“ Come and help me look at these pictures, old 
man,” he said cordially. 

And Bungay never hesitated. The stranger’s 
manner was wholly winning; moreover, Bungay 
was canny enough to realize that rebuke awaited 
him from across the aisle. Without one back- 
ward glance, he wriggled himself up on the seat 
beside the stranger, pried himself into position by 
dint of his customary combination of his own elbow 
and another’s ribs, and observed serenely, — 

“Thank you; but I like better to talk. We ’re 
going to Auntie Jack’s house to stay all summer. 


14 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


and my mamma is sending Auntie Jack a blue silk 
petticoat. It ’s in the trunk, and so is Jumbo’s 
blanket he wears in the winter. This is Jumbo. 
Auntie Jack made him for me. She’s a lovely 
lady, and she ’s got a solid gold back tooth. ” 

And Sidney, powerless to stem the tide of his 
confidences, vainly sought to bury herself in the 
pages of her own magazine. Tor a long hour, 
Bungay’s tongue ran on, commaless. Then, as 
the porter passed him, he lifted up his voice. 

“Sambo,” he said imperiously; “it’s my bed- 
time now, and I wish you ’d turn the knob in the 
wall and make out my bedroom. I ’d like to put 
Jumbo to bed, if you please, so he won’t be sleepy 
in his eyes when he gets to Auntie Jack’s.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


15 


CHAPTER TWO 

S IDE by side on the bank of the chattering 
river, Judith Addison and Janet Leslie sat 
and chattered in unison with the stream at their 
feet. They had been sworn friends for a week 
now, and they had discussed and agreed upon al- 
most every point of girlish philosophy. Never- 
theless, there were a few details yet to be filled in, 
and, since time was finite, their tongues wagged 
busily. Janet’s needle kept pace with her tongue ; 
but Judith’s work lay in her lap and her hands 
were clasped between the back of her head and 
the tree against which she was leaning. Twenty 
feet away, Ronald Leslie, huge and healthy and 
boyish, lay stretched at his whole long length in 
a hammock, deeply engrossed in his book. Reside 
him in a second hammock, Wade Winthrop rocked 
idly to and fro, and there was a heavy shadow in 
his eyes, as they rested on the vast and comely 
figure of his unconscious neighbour. Under the 
edge of the river bank at their feet, Ruth Addison 
was balancing her round little person on a round 
little stone, while she fished for trout with a bent 


16 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


pin and two yards of demoralized blue baby 
ribbon. 

Suddenly Judith leaned forward to look at the 
narrow strip of muslin in Janet’s hands. 

“How beautifully you do sew, Janet ! ” she said 
admiringly. 

Do you think so ? They make us do it, in the 
convent, and we have to learn, whether we like it 
or not. I do like it; but it wouldn’t make any 
difference if I did n’t. Grace Blanchette hates it 
and shirked, and the nuns found it out and made 
her take out five yards of hemming and do it all 
over. ” 

Judith laughed, as she looked from Janet’s dots 
of stitches to the uneven, impressionistic scrawls 
she was sewing into her own square of linen. 

‘‘Don’t you believe they would have a bad time 
with me, though ? ” she suggested. “ I never could 
do that work of yours ; it would give me the fidgets 
in my spine.” 

Janet threaded her needle demurely. She was 
a thin-faced little English girl of fourteen, and 
the two years between her and Judith was empha- 
sized by the extreme difference in their dress and 
manner. Judith was like a sleek Persian kitten; 
Janet was a small gray mouse, thin and bright- 
eyed and alert. 

“The nuns don’t let us have fidgets,” she 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


17 


answered, as she slowly drew her thread into 
place. 

Judith laughed again. 

“ That is the way my mother feels about it ; but 
I tell her I don’t have fidgets, fidgets have me. 
What makes you go to a convent ? ” 

Janet set a whole dozen of dainty, deliberate 
stitches. 

‘‘Really, I never stopped to think,” she replied 
then. “I suppose it is because there aren’t any 
other good schools here, and because my mother 
wants me to learn to speak good French.” . 

“You don’t have to go to a convent for that,” 
Judith observed, as she picked up her work once 
more. “ In our school, we have a French teacher 
who comes, three days a week. I am almost 
through the grammar now, and, twice a month, 
we have to write compositions in French.” 

Janet glanced up with an admiration which 
was wholly free from satire. 

“That must be very hard.” 

“ It is, awful. Do you write compositions, too ? ” 

“No; we just talk it.” 

Judith shook her head. 

“That’s easy. Wait till you have to write 
about poetry and politics and recollections of 
famous people, and then you ’ll find out that 
you don’t like it any better than I do.” 


18 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Prudently Janet changed the subject 

“ Where is your brother, this afternoon ? ” 

“ Over there in the hammock, beyond yours. ” 

“No; I mean Paul.” 

“ Fishing, of course. I never thought I should 
get tired of trout ; but I am eating them, twice a 
day. Paul won’t let any be thrown away, and he 
wants to fish all the time. He was in a shocking 
temper at me, to-day, because I would n’t go with 
him.” 

“ Why would n’t you ? ” 

“ Because I hate thick shoes and to get all in a 
muss. Besides, I like best to stay here and talk 
to you. ” 

Janet raised her brows and a mischievous dimple 
appeared beside her thin scarlet lips. 

“You might have asked me to go, too.” 

“ You don’t fish.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you are too dainty and finicky. I 
don’t believe you ever baited a hook in your life. ” 

J anet laughed. 

“ I could, if I wanted to ; but I don’t have to. ” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Ronald does it. ” 

“Ronald ? But he is your brother.” 

“Of course,” Janet assented. “That’s the 


reason. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


19 


Then Judith, in the space of a sentence, summed 
up the core of her girlish philosophy. 

“Yes; but I supposed it was some other girPs 
brother who generally baited your hook. ” 

Janet smiled contentedly to herself. 

“Not when Ronald is about,” she replied. 

Judith, her chin on her fists, pondered the 
situation. 

“I wish my brother were as splendid as yours,” 
she said slowly, as she glanced across at the 
nearer hammock where a thatch of wavy dark 
hair rested on a scarlet cushion. “I think Ronald 
Leslie is the best-looking man I ever saw in my 
life. ” 

“It ’s only because he is so big,” Janet observed 
tranquilly. “Paul has six years to catch up to 
him.” 

“ I was n’t thinking of Paul then. He ’s nothing 
but a child, anyway. It was W ade I meant. ” 

Janet bent her head over a refractory stitch. 
At heart, she was a little afraid of the thin, 
grave-looking man with the trouble in his eyes, 
and she would have preferred not to discuss him, 
even with his sister. Paul was more within the 
limits of her ken, although even his words and 
ways occasionally defied her comprehension. 

“ Well ? ” she said interrogatively. 

But Judith suddenly turned reticent. 


20 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Oh, nothing, ” she evaded, and the chatter of 
the river filled in the pause of their talk. 

On the narrow strip of land beyond the river, 
an electric train went buzzing lazily down to St. 
Joachim; beyond that again, the huge stream of 
the St. Lawrence flowed smoothly seaward along 
the base of the purple Laurentides. In the other 
direction lay the village, one single street wind- 
ing along between the thatched, whitewashed 
barns and the long, low houses with their wide 
galleries and their gently curving roofs. Midway 
down the village street was Janet’s temporary 
home, and next to its eastern side was the Addi- 
son house which, to Judith’s unaccustomed eyes, 
was wholly attractive and romantic. True, it was 
of brick and lacked the curving roof; but it 
was girdled with two galleries, and the only access 
to its third -story rooms was by means of an out- 
side stairway. The solitary bath-tub was on the 
second floor and at the back of the house; but 
Judith’s present enthusiasm was dominant even 
over the seeming obstacle of gaining her morning 
tubbing by way of the front veranda and the 
kitchen staircase. The deep French casements 
completed her satisfaction. One, although its 
clumsy shutters were an incongruous frame for 
the brave array of ebony and ivory spread out be- 
tween them, served as substitute for the toilet 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


21 


table which fate had denied to the somewhat nar- 
row limits of her room. Into the other, Judith 
had heaped the parti-coloured pillows which she 
had stuffed into the bottom of her trunk, while a 
dozen posters added variety to the prim rank of 
popes and prelates who adorned the wall. 

Janet had halted, dazzled, upon the threshold, 
the first time that Judith had led the way to her 
room. Accustomed to the bare white walls of her 
dainty convent cell, Janet had had no previous 
notion of the gorgeousness of even the summer 
room of the modem American school-girl. 

“How do you like it ?” Judith had demanded 
imperiously. 

“ It ’s perfectly splendid ; only — ” 

“Only ? ” Judith demanded again. 

“ Only it seems so full, as if you M be afraid 
of knocking something over. Besides,” Janet 
added practically; “what shall you do when it 
rains ? ” 

“Why, let it rain, of course,” Judith made 
prompt answer. 

“ Yes ; only the windows — ” 

“ Oh, I can manage that, when the time comes. 
It is n’t raining now. When it does, we can come 
up here and decide what to do about it. For the 
present, I like it best out under the trees. Come, 
if you ’re ready.” 


22 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


And, as the long June days wore away, each 
more fair than the last had been, the girls spent 
an increasing number of hours on the bank of 
the river. Mrs. Addison, tired with a gay winter, 
relieved somewhat upon the score of her older son 
who had settled into his new surroundings with a 
sort of contented apathy, was giving her days to 
a much-needed rest before two new members should 
be added to her household. Paul fished without 
ceasing, and Euth’s chief characteristic was her 
resentment at any supervision of her infantine 
plans. As for Wade, he was busy just then in 
training himself to shut his teeth and smile. 
Under such conditions, Judith felt herself wholly 
free to sit on the bank of the river and chatter 
with Janet. Now and then Ronald joined them 
for an hour; and, as Judith looked up at the 
merry dark eyes and the proudly curving lips, she 
surreptitiously fluffed up her hair and straightened 
the folds of her skirt. It was just as she had 
said to Janet, Ronald Leslie was the best-looking 
man she had ever seen in her life. Nevertheless, 
those who knew Ronald Leslie best, those who 
had followed in detail the record of his twenty 
jovial years, were inclined to discount Ronald’s 
looks entirely, in making up the total score of 
his personality. Ronald Leslie was by no means 
perfect. He was, however, good to look at, but 


ON THE ST. LAWEENCE 


23 


infinitely better to live with, and, after all, it is 
the living with that counts. 

The chattering river had taken upon itself to 
fill the silence in the girls’ talk ; but not for long. 
Its monologue was interrupted by a scream and 
a splash. Then two fat legs waved in the air 
above a shallow pool, and an irate voice cleft the 
ether, — 

“Come quick! Own fish got away, and Kuth 
is ’most drowned.” 

Janet and Judith sprang to their feet; but 
already Ronald was half-way down the bank. 

“ Hold on to the bottom tight, Ruth, and I ’ll 
pick you off in a minute,” he shouted jovially 
across the torrent of shrieks which poured from 
the small throat. “You’ll scare the fish up in 
Lake Ontario, if you howl like that. Now then ! ” 
And he picked her up from her pool and came 
leaping up the bank again, holding Ruth, drip- 
ping and at arm’s length, in his sturdy grasp. 
“No, you don’t, mademoiselle,” he added, as the 
child endeavoured to snuggle against his body. “ 1 
am not looking for a sponge bath at this hour of 
the day. ” 

Ruth’s sodden hair drooped towards his collar. 

“ Ruth loves own Ronald, ” she observed ingra- 
tiatingly. 

“Glad you do, my lady; but there are times 


24 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


and seasons when it ’s not best to show out all 
3^our feelings. Here, Judith, what do you pro- 
pose to do with this mermaiden ? ’’ 

“ Dry her up again, I suppose ; that is, if I can 
find enough dry clothes to cover her. She has 
four complete suits hanging on the line now. Set 
her down, Ronald. No, Ruth; don’t shake your- 
self all over Janet. Say thank you to Ronald, 
and then come with sister.” 

But Ruth mutinied. 

“ Don’t want to come with sister. Ruth wants 
own fishline.” 

Judith spoke with more decision. 

“Come, Ruth; you’ll take cold.” 

Ruth hesitated and cast one yearning glance 
over the edge of the bank at the blue baby ribbon 
trailing limply across a half-submerged rock. 
Then the eternal feminine within her triumphed. 
She parted the dangling, dripping locks which 
hung before her face and smiled up at Ronald. 

“ Ruth will go and put on own best dress, ” she 
explained. “ All the other ones is wet, and that 
is very pretty. Then she will come back and sit 
on Ronald’s knee.” 

But a voice came across from the other hammock. 

“Come and rock with me, Ruth, instead.” 

Ruth shook her head disdainfully. 

“No. Ruth likes Ronald best; he ’s bigger.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


25 


And only Ronald saw the shadow return into 
Wade Winthrop’s eyes, as Judith led her small 
sister away across the field. 

“Come back as soon as you can, Judith,” Janet 
called after her. 

“ That may not be very soon. The maids are 
busy, and mother has just gone up to town. ” 

“ To meet the cousins ? ” 

“Yes. I shall have to dress Ruth. You’d 
better come with me, for there is no knowing 
when I shall get back again.” 

“Ruth can button own garters on,” the child 
observed optimistically, as Janet folded up her 
work and came towards them. 

Judith shook her head. 

“ If you had what you deserve, you would have 
your nightie on and be put to bed without your 
supper,” she said severely. 

But Ruth refused to be suppressed. 

“Then Ruth will play soldier-tent in the bed 
and kill peoples in a battle, and it will make the 
bed very out-of-orderly,” she announced, with the 
air of one who had suddenly mastered an intricate 
problem. 

Ronald, meanwhile, had crossed the narrow 
stretch of grass and thrown himself down beside 
Wade’s hammock. 

“That’s an enterprising infant,” he observed. 


26 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“If she keeps on, she’ll know from experience 
the depth of every spot in the river from the falls 
to the St. Lawrence. Paul would better use up 
some of his extra enthusiasm in fishing her out 
now and then.” 

“ Did she soak you ? ” 

“ Only my cuffs. ” As he spoke, he unbuttoned 
them and slid them off over his hands. Then he 
surveyed them ruefully. “Look at them! And 
they ’re the first cuffs I ’ve worn, since I came 
down here.” 

“Serve you right for wearing them at all,” 
Wade commented unsympathetically. 

“You’ve no business to talk. You always 
wear them.” 

The older man laughed, but without much 
mirth. 

“ I ? Well, why not ? It is the only thing I can 
do.” 

“It’s something to be able to look artistic,” 
Ronald answered buoyantly. “But I put on my 
cuffs, to-day, to do honour to your cousin. ” 

“ Maurice ? ” 

“No; I leave him to Ruth. I mean the girl, 
Miss What ’s Her Name.” 

“ Sidney Stayre. ” 

Ronald whistled. 

“ Miss Peekaboo! What ’s she like ? ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


27 


“ I ’ve never seen her. My mother says she is 
pretty. ” 

Hm ! As pretty as Judith ? 

“I devoutly hope not.” 

Ronald’s eyes opened wide. 

“ Why not? ” 

Wade Winthrop’s answer was uncompromising. 

“Because pretty girls never have any feelings.” 

“But Judith — ” Ronald remonstrated. 

“Oh, Judith is all right, as far as she goes. It 
is only that she feels sure that the world is her 
oyster, and now and then her oyster knife gets to 
pricking the rest of us. Sidney is probably just 
such another, pretty and sweet and absolutely 
heartless. ” 

Ronald hurled a pebble into the stream. He 
waited until he had heard it strike against the 
rock beneath. Then he hurled another. At last, 
he turned to Wade and, by that time, the gleam 
had gone out of his eyes again. 

“You’re not quite fair to Judith, you know,” 
he said calmly. “ She ’s your sister, not mine ; 
and it ’s not my place to be fighting her battles. 
Janet is a dear; but, even if she were not, I’d 
not be saying things about her to another chap. 
But Judith — ” 

Rising on his elbow, Wade Winthrop stared 
into the alert face, stared at the tall figure whose 


28 


SWNET: HER SUMMER 


every line told of virile power. Then deliberately 
he dropped back again and folded his arms under- 
neath his head. 

“Much you know about it all, you young 
Goliath! Wait till your turn comes; though, in 
mercy to you, I hope it will be long in coming. 
But girls are all alike. You heard Ruth state 
her platform; Judith would say the same, if she 
dared and if it were good manners to tell the 
unmannerly truth. Sidney will say the same; 
it ’s girl nature. ” 

“You don’t like girls?” Ronald queried com- 
posedly. 

“Not now. Not so many of them.” 

“Well, you appear to be in for it.” 

“Yes. One’s sisters don’t count; but I dread 
this other damsel. Still, I couldn’t make too 
much of a row. Mother’s heart was set on ask- 
ing her, and it was up to me to give in gracefully, 
as long as the whole family are doing penance in 
the wilderness on my account. ” 

Ronald rose to his feet and stretched himself to 
his full height, yawning, as he did so, until every 
one of his hard white teeth came into view. 

“It ’s not too bad a wilderness,” he said then. 
“It may be a bit monotonous, viewed from the 
river bank ; but, once you get used to it, you ’ll 
like even that. As for the girls, don’t worry. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


29 


I ’ll do what I can to take them off your hands.” 
Then he bent over the hammock and surveyed 
its occupant with merry, but sympathetic eyes. 
“ Keep up your pluck, man ! ” he advised. “ There 
are worse things in the world than spending a 
summer in a hammock in the middle of a crowd 
of girls.” 

But Wade Winthrop’s reply was enigmatic. 

“It depends upon the length of the summer,” 
he answered, as he rose and followed Ronald back 
to the house. 


30 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER THREE 

RAPPED in her scarlet kimono, Sidney 



V V crossed the hall and tapped on Judith’s 
door. Wrapped in her blue kimono and her feet 
covered with fur-topped moccasins, Judith met 
her on the threshold. 

“There!” Sidney said, as Judith flung open 
the door. “ Now we can talk. Let ’s sit on the 
bed and get acquainted.” 

Side by side, the two girls settled themselves 
on the bed, their backs resting against the tall 
footboard, and turned to face each other. Then 
their eyes dropped apart and, for some inscruta- 
ble reason, silence fell. The silence lengthened. 
Then J udith cleared her throat. Then the silence 
fell again. 

“ Hm — mm — mm ! ” Sidney coughed distress- 
fully. “I — ” 

J udith turned to her eagerly. 

“ I beg your pardon ? ” 

“Oh, nothing.” 

There was another hushed interval. 

“Are you warm enough?” Judith queried at 
length. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


31 


“Oh, yes; but — ’’ 

But the silence caught the rest of the phrase. 

All at once Sidney began to laugh, not noisily, 
but with an uncontrollable nervousness which was 
partially the result of her strange surroundings, 
partially the consequence of a wholly sleepless 
night when she had assisted Bungay to entertain 
the elephant with stories instead of the much- 
desired xylophone. According to Bungay, the 
elephant had fallen asleep in the gray dawn ; but 
Bungay was by that time too intent upon getting 
his first glimpse of their opposite neighbour to 
make Sidney feel that safety lay in sleep. Just 
once she had dropped into a doze. She had 
wakened in time to catch the tail of Bungay’s 
toga, as it was vanishing between the curtains 
of the section across the aisle. After that, she 
determined to leave nothing to chance. She had 
risen and dressed herself and Bungay with a 
careful discrimination which kept them at cor- 
responding sets of buttons and buttonholes. 

Afterwards, day had followed night; but day 
had ended in Auntie Jack’s welcoming arms. 
However, Auntie Jack had been followed by 
Auntie Jack’s family. Sidney had found the 
dinner, that night, a trying ordeal, and she had 
assented gladly to Judith’s suggestion that they 
should go to their rooms and make ready for a 


32 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


good-night talk. Now, however, that they had 
made ready, the talk failed to come. Unhappily, 
Sidney’s sense of humour was quicker than that of 
Judith, who asked shortly, — 

“ Well, what are you laughing at ? ” 

“ At us, ” Sidney gasped. Don’t look so solemn 

about it, Judith; it’s very funny.” 

“What is?” 

“Us,” Sidney said again, as she made an heroic 
effort to stifle the mirth which so plainly irritated 
her cousin. “Here we are, knowing it is our 
bounden duty to get acquainted, and we ’ve neither 
one of us the least idea how to go about it. 
That ’s the worst of being cousins ; one can’t ever 
pick for herself. ” 

The figure in the blue kimono stiffened slightly. 

“ I am sorry you feel that way about it. ” 

Sidney sat up, in a swift wave of exasperation. 

“Don’t get sarcastic, Judith; it always makes 
me cross, ” she said hotly. Then she settled back 
again. “What I said, sounded ruder than what 
I really meant,” she explained laboriously. “It 
is only that cousins have to be friends first and get 
to know each other afterwards. But, of course, 
we ’d be friends for Auntie Jack’s sake. I just 
love your mother.” 

“1 am glad you do.” For the life of her, 
Judith could not keep a certain dryness out of her 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


33 


tone. She had rather liked Sidney at the start; 
nevertheless, she had resented the stranger’s free 
and easy adoption of them all as cousins and 
consequent friends of long standing. She had 
resented still more the sudden wakening of her 
half-brother into a semblance of his old-time 
animation. 

“ Of course ; everybody does,” Sidney reiterated, 
with a mischievous satisfaction in her cousin’s 
displeasure. “At our house, we all think she 
made the world, and we always say ‘That’s what 
Auntie Jack says, anyway,’ when we ’re in a tight 
place in an argument. What is your father like ? ” 

“ Like himself. I never saw anybody else just 
like him. Have n’t you ever seen him ? ” 

“No; I never saw any of you till to-night, 
except Auntie Jack.” 

Judith pondered, her momentary irritation quite 
forgotten. 

“ He ’s tall and blond and quiet. Most people 
are afraid of him.” 

Sidney heaved a sigh of decorous regret. 

“ Oh, dear ! I should n’t be. I ’m never afraid 
of people. ” 

Without lifting her head from the footboard, 
Judith turned her eyes rebukingly upon her 
cousin. 

“ That sounds rather — ” 

3 


34 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


She hesitated. Sidney supplied the word un- 
flinchingly. 

“Conceited ? Well, it is n’t. It is only that I 
get so interested in watching to see what they ’ll 
do next that I forget all about being afraid of 
them. It may not be good manners ; but it is a 
great saving on the joints of one’s elbows and 
feet. They say scary people are always trying to 
bend them out of sight. Won’t your father come 
up here, this summer ? ” 

“Probably not. But some people think Wade 
is a good deal like him. ” 

“But he is n’t his son,” Sidney objected. 

“I don’t mean that; but in making people 
afraid of him.” 

Sidney folded her arms inside her sleeves, and 
knitted her brows. 

“Afraid of Cousin Wade ? ” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“ But I’m not.” 

“ People generally are. J anet always runs when 
she sees him coming. ” 

“Who is Janet ? ” 

“Janet Leslie. My chum.” 

“ From home ? ” 

“No; up here.” 

The corners of Sidney’s mouth curled slowly. 

“ How long have you been here ? ” she inquired. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


35 


Again Judith felt herself forced upon the 
defensive. 

“Two weeks.” 

Sidney addressed the headboard of the bed. 

“ Two weeks ; and already she has accumulated 
a chum ! ” Then she rolled over on her side. 
“Oh, Judith Addison, I do think you are the 
dearest girl.” 

“I don’t see why,” Judith answered shortly. 

“ Neither do I ; that ’s just it. But I ’m so glad 
I ’m here. I do get so tired of people, and you 
are n’t a bit like anybody I’ve ever known. Has 
J anet any family ? ” 

“A mother and a sister who is coming, next 
week. ” 

“ Where is she now ? ” 

“Down the river, somewhere. She is older and 
engaged. ” 

“ Anybody else ? ” Sidney demanded. 

“Yes, a brother.” 

“ A little one ? ” 

“ He is six feet and two inches tall. ” 

“ Goodness me I I hope he is careful where he 
steps. ” 

With an odd, self-conscious little smile, Judith 
smoothed out her soft blue folds. 

“ He is. But, really, he is — ” 

“Monstrous,” Sidney said, as once more Judith 


36 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


hesitated for the right word. “Well, what do 
you think of Bungay ? ” 

Judith recalled herself with a jerk. She would 
have preferred to linger upon the subject of 
Ronald Leslie. Obviously, however, Sidney was 
in a mood of wishing to range at will over the 
entire horizon. As hostess, it was incumbent 
upon her to follow Sidney’s mental meanderings. 

“I think he is going to be a little darling,” she 
responded, with a dutiful forgetfulness of certain 
details of the little darling’s etiquette at table. 
Sidney laughed. 

“I am glad you do. You must have a hopeful 
disposition. I confess that I am wondering what 
will come out of a union of Ruth and Bungay. 
Still, the river is shallow, you say, and the gallery 
rails are moderately high. ” 

“So is the poplar tree in the front yard; but 
Ruth has been at the top of it,” Judith reassured 
her sleepily. “She came down by way of the 
upper gallery posts, too. Mother nearly fainted ; 
but Wade just laughed and told Ruth to hold on 
tight. It was all Paul’s fault.” 

“ What did Paul have to do with it ? ” 

“He was playing Captain Crockett, and Ruth 
was the coon. Paul is an awful boy.” 

Sidney laughed again, this time quite unfeel- 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


37 


“ Apparently you don’t approve of your brothers, 
Judith.” 

J udith had been on the very verge of going to 
sleep. Now she opened her eyes and blinked up 
at Sidney in drowsy negation. 

“Yes, I do. What should make you think I 
don’t ? ” 

“Nothing. I only imagined it. There comes 
Paul now.” 

Judith sat up and rubbed her sleepy eyes. 

“Yes, and he’ll want to come in. He always 
does.” 

“Well, why not ? ” 

“ Because he gets his shoes on the bed. ” 

“Make him take them off,” Sidney suggested 
practically. 

J udith drew a tragical sigh. 

“Wait till you have a brother!” she warned 
her cousin. 

“I have now, three of them. I’m used to 
boys.” 

Judith shook her head. 

“I ’m not. I ’m afraid I never shall be.” 

Sidney’s eyes swept the dainty figure from head 
to heel. 

“No,” she agreed; “you won’t. You ’re a born 
old maid. The worst of it is, you don’t care one 
bit if you are. Come in, Paul,” she added, as a 


38 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


boyish fist smote upon the door. ‘‘Judith and I 
were just wishing you would drop in to say good 
night.’’ 

The door swung open, and Paul, broad-shoul- 
dered, freckle-faced, merry-eyed, appeared upon 
the threshold. 

“ Hullo, Tiddles ! You here, too ? ” he said 
jovially. 

“Yes. Come in.” 

Swiftly he deposited himself, cross-legged, on 
the floor. 

“ Don’t dare. J udy won’t let me. ” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ She ’s afraid I ’ll muss up some of her didoes. 
For my part, I can’t see any sense in putting a 
three-foot frill into a two-foot room, and then 
standing outside to see how pretty it looks. 
You haven’t been into my room yet; have you, 
Tiddles ? ” 

“ Paul ! ” J udith remonstrated. “ That ’s not 
a polite way to speak to your cousin.” 

“ Polite be hanged ! Tiddles and I understand 
each other. We settled that, on the way up from 
the station. If you ’d been there, we ’d have 
settled you, too, Judy; but you were mooning 
around with Janet and Ronald. When are you 
coming to see my den, Tids ? ” 

“ When I get an invitation. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


89 


“Come now.” 

“Can’t. It’s too late. I’ll come, in the 
morning. ” 

“ Mean of you to beg off, when you ’d only just 
begged on. It ’s a peachey place : three windows, 
a bed, and a scarlet chair that crocks the back of 
my coats into barber poles. You won’t see any 
frills, though, nothing but rods and flies and 
empty biscuit tins. Is Bungay asleep ? ” 

“Yes. Do be careful you don’t wake him, 
though. He took his xylophone to bed with him, 
in case Jumbo cried in the night.” 

“How jolly! We’ll have a concert on this 
floor. Judith brought a watchman’s rattle, and 
Ruth left her flute on my bed. Let ’s go at it 
and start Wade to raging.” 

“Paul, you mustn’t!” Judith said hastily, as 
Paul rose to his feet. “You know mother said, 
if we had this floor to ourselves, that we must n’t 
make a racket up here. If you get too noisy, 
you ’ll be moved down-stairs into the room back 
of Wade, and you know you ’d hate that.” 

“You bet I would! Wade won’t even let a 
fellow turn his pillow over, without kicking up a 
row,” Paul observed a little resentfully. 

Then Sidney asked the question which had been 
trembling on her tongue, ever since her arrival at 
the house. 


40 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ What is the matter with Wade?’’ she inquired. 
Paul shrugged his shoulders. 

“Plain cranky.” Then he relented, and a 
kindly light came into his gray eyes, a ring of 
real regret into his honest voice. “ I don’t know, 
Tiddles. Mother wouldn’t tell us; but I imagine 
it is something rather bad. It was one night in 
the night, and there were three doctors ; and then, 
all at once, she decided to come up here. ” 

“And hasn’t Wade told you?” the girl asked 
wonderingly for, in the Stayre home, it was all 
share and share alike in anxiety and in happiness, 
and she found it hard to understand a family 
where reticence and reservations were the order 
of the day. 

“Not a word.” 

“ Have you asked him ? ” 

“Not I. One doesn’t ask questions of Wade 
Winthrop.” 

Sidney pondered. 

“I shall,” she observed calmly at length. 

“ Much good may it do you ! ” 

“ I ’m not going to do it for my good ; I ’m not 
so curious as all that. But, when something is 
very wrong, it ’s a comfort to be asked what ’s the 
matter, even if you have made up your mind you 
won’t tell. At least, there ’s a certain satisfac- 
tion in making people understand that it is none 


Olsr THE ST. LAWRENCE 


41 


of their business,’’ Sidney explained a little 
hotly. 

“Exactly,” Paul agreed, with perfect compos- 
ure. “ Resolved by the resolution committee that 
Cousin Tiddles is speaking the truth. And now, 
if you please, what do you propose to do next ? ” 

Sidney rose from her seat on the edge of the 
bed. 

“I propose to go to bed,” she said tranquilly. 
“ What ’s more, when I get there, I propose to go 
to sleep.” 

Nevertheless, Sidney failed to hold to the second 
half of her resolution. She had gone through 
the later stages of her undressing with an elabo- 
rate care not to disturb Wade who, she knew, 
occupied the room beneath her own. Then, her 
undressing ended and her light out, she stood for 
a moment, looking into the silvery shadows of the 
poplar tree just outside her casement, before she 
tucked herself into bed to wait for the sleep which 
would not come. Instead of sleep, Wade Win- 
throp’s face seemed to be staring out at her from 
all the corners of the room at once, and the face 
seemed to be assuring her that something was very 
wrong indeed. 

It had been quite as a matter of course, at 
dinner, that Sidney had been given a seat at 
Wade Winthrop’s right hand. Absorbed in her 


42 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


flurry of greeting to so many new cousins, and in 
the need for piloting Bungay through his greet- 
ings with some semblance of decorum, Sidney had 
paid no especial heed to Wade until she had found 
herself seated at his elbow and answering to his 
courteous questions about her journey and about 
the family she had left at home. Then, of a 
sudden, she discovered that twenty-seven was not 
such a great age, after all. Up to that time, she 
had regarded Wade Winthrop as belonging 
to quite another epoch from her own. Now she 
began to suspect that his presence might add 
something to the interest of her summer sur- 
roundings. True, twenty-seven was remote from 
sixteen, and it possessed vastly other interests. 
Nevertheless, something in the dark eyes attracted 
Sidney. They were frank and full of kindly 
humour ; yet they suggested to her mind the fact 
that their owner did not tell all his thoughts to 
every one whom he chanced to meet. Sidney 
looked into his eyes frankly and with a humour 
which was kin to his own ; but she too held some- 
thing in reserve. That something was a deliber- 
ate resolution to worm her way into the shell of 
her cousin, to find out what lay beneath and then, 
if possible, to get on cousinly terms with him at 
the earliest possible moment. 

For the rest and apart from his eyes, she saw a 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


43 


grave-looking man, spare and sinewy and dark, 
with a few white threads in his brown hair, two 
vertical creases between his straight brows, and 
lips that drooped a little, when his face relaxed 
from its kindly, welcoming smile. 

All this passed before her as she lay, wide-eyed, 
staring into the silvery shadow of the poplar tree. 
And then, all at once, it faded away into a blank 
which lasted until she opened her eyes to face the 
growing dawn while, from the next room, a voice 
came clearly to her ears, — 

“Now, Jumbo, lie still and be a good effalunt, 
and I ’ll play you a little song on the xylophone.” 

The next instant, she had leaped out of bed 
and dashed to the door leading into Bungay’s 
room; but she was too late. Already a fearful 
clash smote upon the morning air, followed by 
Bungay’s voice, lustily shouting a limerick which 
she herself had taught him, — 

“ There was a good auntie named Jack, 

Of children she had a great lack. 

She opened her door, 

And called in two more, 

This generous Aunt — ” 

Shivering in the chilly dawn, Sidney paused 
upon the threshold. 

“ Oh, Bungay I ” she said reproachfully. 

The xylophone gave another smashing wail 


44 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


under Bungay’s violent smiting. Then Bungay 
looked up with a smile. 

“ Hullo, Sidney ! I was just singing J umbo to 
sleep again, so ’s he should n’t cry and wake up 
Cousin Wade.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


45 


CHAPTER FOUR 



iHE morning train had come and gone ; and, 


X out on the vine-covered gallery of his house, 
the old postmaster shaded his eyes with his hand 
and peered anxiously down the road in search of 
the missing urchin whose duty it was to bring up 
the post-bag. Inside the office, the fat fox terrier 
was snoring on his doll bedstead, totally regard- 
less of the disparaging comments of Bungay. 
Bungay, elephant in hand, sat enthroned on the 
wide old sofa where the postmaster was wont to 
sort the mail, while, across the room, Sidney and 
J udith were staring into the two great cases filled 
with the best of classic French literature. Beyond 
them, an open door showed a huge four-poster bed 
with a scarlet valance, and the spotless floor of 
both rooms was painted in a gay counterfeit of 
oilcloth. 

Both girls turned about sharply, as the screen 
door swung open and Paul appeared. 

‘‘ Howdy ? ’’ he observed, as affably as if they 
had not parted from him, ten minutes before. 
“ Seen Wade anywhere ? ’’ 


46 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Not since breakfast.” 

“I thought I saw him coming up this way.” 

“ Perhaps. We ’ve not seen him, though. What 
do you want of him ? ” 

“Ronald was looking for him. I don’t know 
what he wanted ; but he seemed in an everlasting 
hurry. Here he comes now. Look out, Goliath, 
or you ’ll fetch loose the lintels of the door- 
posts,” he added, as Ronald pulled open the 
screen, ducked his head to enter, and then, 
dodging back, held the door open for the old 
postmaster. 

Sidney saw the act and liked it. She liked 
Ronald, too. Judith had prepared her to expect 
an elegant young man ; this tall stripling was as 
boyish and simple as Paul himself, as frankly 
off-hand. 

“Find Wade ? ” he queried, with youthful econ- 
omy of words. 

“No.” 

“Queer I I’ve hunted through all his haunts, 
and he has turned up missing in them all. No 
matter ; it was nothing in particular. What are 
you going to do, this morning ? ” 

“Fish,” Paul replied laconically. 

“ Of course. Tell us something we don’t know. 
And the rest of you ? ” 

“We’re going to watch him do it,” Judith 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


47 


answered. “ Sidney has n’t seen the dam yet, and 
she says she does n’t know anything at all about 
trouting. We are going to educate her.” 

Paul bent over the desk where, under the post- 
master’s direction, he was plying the stamp. 

‘‘Educate your grandmother!” he objected. 
“ I ’m not going to have you girls round in the 
way. You can’t keep still to save your necks, 
and your light clothes would scare off the fish, 
anyhow. ” 

But Janet slid forward from her place in the 
lee of her brother’s elbow. 

“Judith can do as she chooses,” she replied 
audaciously; “but I am going to fish. The dam 
is large enough for two.” 

Paul stamped the last letter and tossed the little 
pile over to the sofa. Then he looked up. 

“You here, Janet? Well, fish, if you want. 
I ’ve bait enough for us both, I suppose. Still, if 
you come, you must keep quiet. ” 

Janet’s small chin rose in the air. 

“ I have fished at the dam for the last five sum- 
mers,” she observed, with crushing dignity. “I 
not only can bait my own hook, but I also know 
that trout flies are n’t usually sold alive in blue 
bottles. ” 

Paul’s eyes snapped; then he threw back his 
head and shouted with laughter. 


48 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“That^s one on me, Janet,” he said, as soon as 
he could speak. “ Who gave it away ? ” 

She dropped a mincing courtesy. 

‘‘I never tell tales. Now will you let me 
come ? ” 

“It’s the only safe thing to do. You’re too 
dangerous to fight with. Come along.” And 
Paul swept up the letters marked Addison, 
nodded to the postmaster and led the way out 
of the office, with Janet following close at his 
heels. 

“Don’t mind. We will go, even if Paul does 
make a fuss about it,” Judith said. “You’ll 
come, Ronald ? ” 

“Sure.” 

“ And fish, or talk to us ? ” she added, with a 
smile up into the dark eyes so far above her own. 

“Both at once, of course. My accents will 
coax the fish nearer. They always come, when 
I call. We ’ll show Miss Peekaboo the sight of 
her life. ” 

“Not yet, though,” Sidney objected. “You 
can go on ; I ’ll follow you as soon as I can. I 
really must write a letter to my mother.” 

“Oh, Sidney, what a bore!” Judith protested. 
“ Let the letter wait. ” 

Paul whirled about on his heel and halted, 
completely blocking the narrow board walk. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


49 


“Oh, lettest thou thy mother let her letter 
wait,” he proclaimed. “Come along, Tiddles, 
and let the letter go hang.” 

“I can’t. I have the New England conscience 
with the New York rush added on to it,” she 
responded, while, seizing her cousin by his 
shoulders, she swung him around and started 
him on his way once more. “ It won’t take me 
but a few minutes; then I ’ll mail it, to get it off 
my mind, and I ’ll be at the dam before you ’ve 
caught your first fish.” 

“You ’ll lose your way,” Paul predicted 
gloomily. 

“Then I’ll find it again. You aren’t very 
polite to me, anyway. I heard you telling Wade, 
this morning, that it was a straight trail and any 
dunce could find it. ” 

But Paul faced about again promptly. 

“ That ’s just it, you are no dunce, ” he replied. 
“Still, if you are so set upon the idea, go and 
make merry with your inkpot and your conscience, 
and Janet and I will go and catch some fishes.” 

“ What about us ? ” Ronald queried. 

Paul looked up at him, not all at once, but by 
painful degrees which were intended to suggest 
that he considered Ronald unduly tall. Then he 
lowered his eyes again by the same series of 
angles which included Ronald’s hat, his ^s, his 
4 


50 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


tie and lastly his belt. That done, he glanced at 
his sister, pretty and dainty and far too fluffy for 
the rest of the group who were dressed in the 
rough and ready clothing suited to the mountains 
around them. 

Oh, you can sit on a smooth, dry log, and play 
cat’s-cradle,’’ he replied disdainfully. “Mind 
the knots in the string, though, for fear they 
might hurt your fingers.” 

Wade, meanwhile, was learning to weave 
catalun. 

The post-office was on the first floor of the 
cottage. Beneath it and a step down from the 
level of the sidewalk was a low, square room 
where the postmaster’s wife sat, day after day, 
throwing her shuttle to and fro, while the heavy 
loom clattered beneath her shifting feet. The 
room was dark and the rafters hung low above 
it; but the side windows looked out upon such a 
garden as was rare even in the land of the flower- 
loving French Canadian. Scarlet poppies and 
crimson phlox jostled each other for root-room, 
petunias and pansies carpeted the borders, and 
tall tiger-lilies flaunted their gaudy blossoms 
around the half-dozen little shrines whose white 
posts dotted the flowery enclosure. At dawn and 
at dusk, Madame might have been seen working 
among the blossoms. At other hours, she sat on 



“ TY^ADE developed the habit of dropping 
in now and then to spend an hour 
with Madame." Page 51. 





ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


51 


her oaken chest and plied her loom, while her 
tongue flew in unison with her flying shuttle. 

All sorts and ages of callers came to Madame’s 
room. It was a natural stopping-place for those 
who were waiting for a letter. Moreover, it was 
a headquarters for village gossip and a rostrum 
where, his morning mail once sorted, Monsieur 
mounted his rocking-chair and his hobby and, 
tilting gently back and forth, discoursed of poli- 
tics and literature to all who would listen. And, 
among the listeners, none was more courteously 
attentive than Wade Winthrop. 

Wade had discovered the place quite by chance, 
the day after his arrival at the village. Pausing 
on the threshold, he had begged permission to 
enter, and Madame, after one swift glance in his 
direction, had granted the permission most gra- 
ciously. From that time onward, Wade devel- 
oped the habit of dropping in now and then, to 
spend an hour with Madame, sitting astride a 
wooden chair to watch the busy shuttle and, 
meanwhile, listening to Madame’s placid stream 
of talk. Madame spoke no English; but Wade 
had passed two or three summers in the south of 
France, and, moreover, Madame ’s gestures left 
little to the imagination. 

Wade liked Madame. According to the fate of 
too many men, he had been cloyed with feminine 


52 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


attentions. Her outspoken simplicity pleased 
him ; her loosely-knit figure in its homespun 
petticoat and brown calico sack was an interest- 
ing contrast to the trim society girls with whom, 
for the most part, his lot had been cast, while 
her head, invariably encased in its black woollen 
hood, held a shrewd sense which made her no 
mean adversary in an argument, as Wade had 
occasionally discovered to his cost. This morn- 
ing, however, Madame discarded argument in 
favour of more personal details. 

“You have been here since two weeks now?” 
she said interrogatively, while, with a flip of 
her thumb, she freed the empty bobbin from her 
shuttle and, bending over the basket beside her, 
made leisurely choice of a full bobbin to replace 
it. 

“Yes.” 

“ And you like it much ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“The yes comes heavily,” Madame observed, 
as she fitted the second bobbin to position. “ Is 
it weighted with some doubt, perhaps ? ” 

Wade, astride his accustomed chair, his arms 
on the chairback and his chin on his arms, shook 
his head. 

“What should make you think sq? ” 

“The look in your eyes, my son,” Madame 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


53 


responded unexpectedly. “ Only those whose 
lives are hungry look upon life with hungry 
eyes.” 

Wade reddened. Then he laughed. 

“ By Jove, Madame, you ’ve hit the bull’s eye ! ” 
he said in English. 

“ Pardon ? ” 

Swiftly he paraphrased his words; but the 
paraphrase omitted the meaning. 

“ Madame speaks with directness. ” 

Madame’s shuttle had been poised for the cast. 
Now she stayed her hand, laid the shuttle 
down on the strings of warp, and took out her 
snuff-box. 

“ Will you use it ? ” she asked courteously. 

Even in his sombre mood, Wade was conscious 
of a sudden wayward desire to try the experi- 
ment; but he hated sneezing and prudently he 
desisted. 

“ Not to-day.” 

Madame tapped the box gently, gently put the 
dust to one nostril and then to the other, then 
gently applied herself to her kerchief, fashioned 
from the superfluous material of her dark brown 
calico sack. 

“Perhaps it is better. You are young. I am 
old; and, besides, I have a rheum in my head. 
It is for that, and that only, that I take it. ” She 


54 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


pocketed her box, and took up her shuttle once 
more. Then she returned to the charge. “ Why 
did you come to this village ? ” she asked quietly. 

Wade’s answer was evasive. 

“We always go out of town in summer. ” 

Madame threw her shuttle, shifted the loom, 
threw the shuttle again. 

“I have seen Americans before,” she said dis- 
passionately. “ The men do not, without reason, 
come here to walk in the street, or to lie in a 
hammock. They are very energetic, the Amer- 
ican men; they tramp for many miles over the 
hills to catch the trout.” 

Wade laughed. 

“ My young brother must be a true American, 
then. ” 

“Perhaps. Perhaps you, too,” Madame as- 
sented. 

Again Wade had recourse to English. 

“ I fear that I don’t quite catch your meaning. ” 

“ Eh ? ” 

Wade returned to French. 

“ Madame has said ? ” he repeated interroga- 
tively. 

Thrice, four times the shuttle flew across the 
web. Then Madame, bending forward, rolled the 
web backward to give more room for the play of 
her shuttle. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


55 


“Sometimes it is one’s body; sometimes it is 
one’s brain; sometimes it is one’s heart,” she 
said at length, without lifting her eyes. 

There was a silence, while Wade sat with his 
own eyes bent thoughtfully upon the wide white 
web before him. 

“Madame speaks the truth,” he said slowly. 
“And sometimes it is all the three.” 

Madame paused irresolutely. Then she stretched 
out one wrinkled hand and rested it on the web, 
close to his own. 

“In that case, the burden is three times as 
heavy. If one can carry it without a cry, so 
much the better. But remember this, my son, 
when the cry forces itself to come, it is safe to 
make it in this room. The noise of the loom can 
cover all other sounds, and Madame grows very 
deaf and forgetful. As long as the sun shines, it 
is best to stay on the river bank ; but, when the 
clouds come, there is always the chair waiting 
here beside the loom. And now tell me about 
the cousins.” 

Wade smiled up into the dark little eyes be- 
neath the knitted hood. From the start, he had 
suspected that he and Madame understood each 
other. Now he knew it. He had been quick to 
recognize the instinct of motherhood, quick to 
respond to its appeal. Furthermore, he felt no 


56 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


reticence in speaking out to Madame. His own 
mother was too near; his bad times would be a 
personal sorrow to her, and Wade was far too 
loyal to his brave little mother to be willing to 
add one iota to the care which he knew she was 
already bearing. It was bad enough for her to 
be forced to face the invalidism of her first-born 
son, without the additional knowledge of that 
son’s rebellion. The least he could do, was to 
shut his teeth and swallow his dose like a man. 
Now and then, however, he had been conscious of 
an overpowering desire to talk. Talking never 
mended matters; but at least it clarified one’s 
mental point of view. Just once, he had tried 
to talk to Judith. He never had repeated the 
experiment. Judith had been sympathetic; but 
it had been a decorous sympathy and superior 
withal. 

“Thank you, Madame,” he said, with quiet 
directness. “Some day, if you will allow me, I 
may talk to you about myself. There is not much 
to tell ; it is only that I am having my bad times 
now, and I do not like them.” 

“We must take them as they come,” Madame 
reminded him. 

“Exactly. That is what I am finding out. 
My objection is that they appear so suddenly that 
they take our breath away. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


57 


A second empty bobbin dropped into the basket 
on the floor at Madame’s side. 

“If I could foresee the knots in my warp, I 
should constantly be seeking to avoid them, and 
so my web would be less smooth,” she answered 
quaintly. “ It is so with life. The shadows are 
annoying; but, if we face the sun, we shall not 
see them until they cover us completely.” 

“Hang it! That’s just it,” Wade burst in 
impatiently. 

“ Eh ? ” 

The young fellow lifted his head and drew one 
deep, quick breath. 

“ Yes, ” he said. “ And then — ? ” 

Madame looked up and started to answer. 
Then she held her peace. From the stairs which 
led up past her window to the post-office above, 
there came the noise of stubbing, childish steps, 
and then a gay, girlish laugh, so rollicking and 
infectious that Wade laughed too, in sympathy. 
Madame’s face brightened. 

“ And, even after the cloud, the sunshine comes 
again,” she said with cheery optimism, as once 
more she fell to plying her shuttle. 

The steps passed on their way, then returned 
again, and with them came the girlish laugh. 

“Now, Bungay, do remember that you’re not 
to dust down the steps with Jumbo.” 


58 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


‘‘ Why not ? He is n’t dusty any, ’cept where 
he sits down on it, and effalunts live in the desert 
where it ’s always dusty, so he ’s used to it. ” 

“But Auntie Jack won’t want you to take 
Jumbo into your nice clean bed.” 

“Then he can sleep in Auntie Jack’s bed. 
Sidney, if Jumbo died and went to heaven, do 
you s’pose then he ’d have a little nangel just like 
me to lead him about ? ” 

“Perhaps.” 

“What would that nangel’s name be ? ” 

Then Sidney started abruptly, as Wade came 
leaping into the conversation. 

“Noah, of course.” 

Turning, the girl glanced in at the low window. 

“Wade! Where have you been, all the morn- 
ing?” 

“Here.” 

“But we have been looking everywhere for 
you,” she said, with a swift appropriation of a 
pronoun which by rights should have been in the 
third person. 

Without his realizing it in the least, Wade’s 
face lighted. As a rule, the gay bevy of young 
people had gone on their way and allowed him 
to go on his. Moreover, he liked this hearty, 
healthy girl cousin far better than he had in- 
tended to do. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


59 


“ I was here. Come in and see Madame. ” 

Sidney halted irresolutely. 

“I would; only the others are waiting.’’ 

“Let them wait,” he advised her composedly. 
“I assure you, Madame is well worth the seeing.” 

Sidney took her resolution. 

“I’ll come, if you will go back with me and 
make my peace.” 

“For what ?” 

“For stopping to play by the way, when I 
promised I ’d be right up there. Besides, 
you ’ll have to come. I don’t know the way to 
the dam.” 

“Neither do I.” 

She laughed down at him saucily, yet there was 
no sting in her manner. 

“ You ought to ; and men never get lost. There 
may be bears in the woods, too. ” 

Bungay added his quota to the talk. 

“And tigers and rangatangs,” he suggested 
hopefully. “And they’ll come crawling, crawl- 
ing out of the woods to eat Sidney and me, and 
Cousin Wade will shoot ’em bang dead.” 

Wade laughed. Then he picked up his cap. 

“I had supposed my days of usefulness were 
ended,” he said; “but there’s no escaping that 
appeal.” Then he turned to Madame. “My 
cousin has brought the sunshine with her,” he 


60 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


added in French. ‘‘ I will go and play in it as 
long as it lasts. However, — I shall return.’’ 

But Madame nodded cheerfully up at him from 
above her wide white web. 

“ The sun is always shining somewhere. It is 
our place to follow it as it moves along. Go now ; 
but, next time, bring in your cousin to make sun- 
light for me. I need it also, myself, for my own 
day is dropping to the sunset.” And, with a 
second nod, she sent Wade out to join his cousin. 

From afar, Paul saw them coming. Forgetful 
of the trout flapping in the air above his head, he 
turned and apostrophized Janet. 

“Jove Mehercule! That Tiddles beats the 
record ! She ’s coaxed the hermit crab out of 
his shell, and I ’ll be doddered if he does n’t look 
as if he liked the prospect.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


61 


CHAPTER FIVE 

I F I can’t drive, I won’t ride,” Sidney observed 
dispassionately. 

With careful deliberation, Paul clambered over 
her feet and seated himself at her side. 

“That is the most characteristic remark you 
have offered up, since your arrival, Tiddles. 
Nevertheless, in this instance, you get yourself 
left. ” 

“Oh, no,” she said; “I am right here.” 

P’tit, sitting on the tail of the forward buck- 
board, flashed back at her an appreciative grin. 
In the past week, P’tit had formed the habit of 
grinning appreciatively at each and every remark 
made by Sidney, not that he understood Eng- 
lish; but merely as a token of his whole-souled 
allegiance. 

Paul spoke again. 

“Cousin Tiddles, it is foolish to make puns. 
It is also foolish for you to think you can drive. 
It is a man’s work to drive, and you are merely a 
girl.” 

Sidney rose, set her foot on the aged lines and 
put her hat away in the box underneath the seat. 


62 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“When the man shows himself, I’ll give up 
the reins to him.” Then she turned suddenly 
and beckoned to Wade who had just appeared 
on the gallery. “Wade, come here. I want a 
grown-up man.” 

“You generally do,” Paul reminded her. 
“That’s why I have to dance attendance on you, 
the whole blessed time.” 

“You!” The accent was wholly disdainful. 
Then she turned back to Wade who had saun- 
tered across the narrow lawn and halted at her 
side. “Wade,” she said a little imperiously; 
“I want you to come with us and drive this 
horse. ” 

“But I never go on picnics,” he objected. "" 

“This is n’t a picnic. It is a tour of discovery. 
The drive won’t hurt you, and, if you don’t want 
to go down the mountain, you can take a rug and 
have a nap at the top of the trail. Come. ” 

“ What ’s the use ? ” he demurred. 

“ What ’s the use of not ? ” 

“Too far for me.” 

“Not a bit. You may as well be driving as 
lying around in that hammock, all day long,” 
Sidney said undauntedly, for she had had a talk 
with Auntie Jack, only that morning, and she 
was sure of her ground. “Besides,” she added, 
with a swift flash of mischief ; “ if you stay still 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


63 


here so much of the time, you ’ll grow fat, and 
it ’s horridly unbecoming for a man of your age 
to be fat.” 

“Oh, Sidney! ” Judith protested, from the back 
seat where she sat waiting for the discussion to 
end itself. 

“Oh, Judith! But you know it is. I don’t like 
a man who lets his muscle get all soft. Are you 
coming, Wade ? ” 

“No. I don’t think I care about it.” But his 
accent lacked resolution. 

Sidney pointed her finger at him in mock 
derision. 

“Like every other man, you are waiting to be 
urged; but you need n’t think I am going to urge 
you. Wade Winthrop, get in here, this instant. 
Don’t you see that we ’re waiting for you ? ” 

“ I had n’t observed it. ” 

“Well, observe it now. Come.” 

“ Where ? ” he queried meekly. 

“Here, beside me. Else I shall drive, and I 
shall probably upset the buckboard down a 
ravine. ” 

“ What about Paul ? ” 

“I am afraid to trust him. He can go and 
drive J anet. ” 

“Well, I like that,” Janet said explosively. 

“So do I. I’d much rather have Wade. He 


64 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


talks about things that are interesting. Ronald, 
are you going to take care of your sister, or will 
you come in with us ? ” 

Ronald rose deliberately from his seat on the 
edge of the board walk. 

“Thanks; I value my life, so I T1 stay behind 
with Judith. I have seen Paul drive before now, 
and I prefer to be at a safe distance.’’ 

“ Did you ever see anything like the way Sidney 
hustles Wade around ? ” Judith asked, under cover 
of the shower of compliments flying back and forth 
between Paul and his cousin. “For my part, I 
don’t see how she dares do it. I would n’t.” 

Sidney, delivering herself of a final thrust, was 
deaf to her words; but Wade, as he gathered up 
the lines which Sidney had dutifully made over 
to him, heard. As he heard, he acknowledged to 
himself that he shared Judith’s wonder. Nobody 
else ever had hustled him around in this summary 
fashion. Through school and college and his first 
years of social life, his brains and his money, 
coupled with his family position, had caused 
Wade Winthrop to be regarded as a species of 
petty god. Then, when the sudden check had 
come to his active life, he had turned his back 
upon his outside friends, only to be set upon a 
domestic pedestal and treated with the admiring 
gentleness which one bestows upon a fragile 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


65 


ornament. To do him justice, this new attitude 
bored him absolutely. Nevertheless, he was too 
much absorbed, just then, in solving certain of 
his own problems to have any leisure to attack 
that of his wholesome relation to his family. 
For the rest, he was so much older than the 
others that it had occurred to no one of them 
that he would find pleasure in being included in 
their plans. 

They had been at Grande Riviere for more than 
two weeks now. For the first fourteen days of 
that time, Wade Winthrop had divided his hours 
rather evenly between the gallery, the hammock 
and Madame’s straight-backed chair. The others, 
alert and hilarious, had gone on their somewhat 
erratic way, now on foot and in the rubber-soled 
shoes which betokened a day of hard climbing, 
now in one of the rickety buckboards whose 
joints were always on the eve of parting company 
with one another. The two Leslies and the two 
young Addisons made a jovial quartette. Wade 
watched them go and come with grave, but un- 
envying eyes. For many of their expeditions, 
he lacked the energy; it never once seemed to 
strike him that he could find pleasure in the 
others. Wade Winthrop was by nature no milk- 
sop; nevertheless, in his saner moments, he ad- 
mitted to himself that he was coming to accept 


66 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


the general attitude of chastened disregard of 
himself as a personality to be reckoned with. It 
was a good deal as Ruth had said, — 

“Not now, Wade. You ’re good for rainy days, 
when Ruth can’t have any fun.” 

Together with the others, he had laughed at 
the childish frankness; but, when the laugh was 
ended, he bit his lower lip. 

And then Sidney had come. Fresh, breezy, 
enthusiastic, she had swept into their home like 
a draft of chilly air. She had no especial man- 
ners; she was cocksure and self-assertive, as 
befitted the oldest of seven children and the 
president of her school dramatic society. In the 
intervals of adoring her aunt and of disciplining 
Bungay for his constant sins of commission, she 
rollicked with Paul and did her best to jostle 
Judith out of her complacent attitude towards 
all things. The residue of her time, and, from 
day to day, that residue was increasing, she de- 
voted to Wade for whose society she appeared to 
have taken a sudden and inordinate liking. No 
chastened respect marked her manner to him, 
however. She cajoled him and bullied him by 
turns and made not the least pretence of handling 
him with mittens. Wade protested; he even 
rebelled a little, now and then; but it was in 
vain. Sidney merely shifted her weapon for a 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


67 


better grasp and then returned to the charge. It 
was all merry, all apparently the result of random 
jollity. Only Wade himself had ever seen the 
little irresolute curve of Sidney’s lips, had ever 
noted the little scarlet spot that came into her 
cheeks occasionally, when his own answering 
shot had carried home. But Wade himself did 
see and notice and, in the long hours between 
bedtime and dawn, he sometimes wondered 
whether Sidney’s jollity were as random as it 
seemed. 

“It is nine miles there and ten miles back 
again, and I hate these horses that can’t speak 
English,” she observed tranquilly, as she settled 
back on the lumpy seat at Wade’s elbow. 

“ What do they speak ? ” 

“French, of course. Haven’t you found that 
out ? ” 

He shook his head. 

“I ’ve not been doing much driving.” 

“Neither have I. My one trip with Judith, 
yesterday, was quite enough, though. Our ani- 
mal tried to walk into a barnyard, over the top 
of a baby. I attempted to make him back ; but 
he could n’t understand English, and my French 
forsook me in such a crisis, so I had to resort 
to Volapuk.” 

“ And ? ” he said interrogatively. 


68 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ And he understood, of course, ” she responded. 

‘‘Yes; but what was the Volapuk ? ” 

“ Running around in front of him and shaking 
my skirts in his face. If that ’s not the universal 
language, I don’t know what is. Still, it is a 
great comfort to have a linguist here who can 
commune with him in his own tongue.” 

Wade pointed to the whip. 

“ Does that come into your universal language ? ” 
he queried. 

She shook her head. 

“I never beat things.” 

“ What then ? ” 

Roguishly she cocked the whites of her eyes up 
at him. 

“I merely cajole them,” she replied quietly. 

“ Oh. As you cajoled me to come ? ” 

“Yes, exactly.” 

There came a little silence between them. 
With the reins lying idly on his knees and his 
head thrown back, Wade was staring up into 
the greenery of maple and tamarack above them. 
At his side, Sidney watched him askance and 
complimented herself upon the success of her 
cajolery. Wade’s eyes were full of dreamy con- 
tent; his lips were shaped to a noiseless whist- 
ling. Not since her first meeting with him, four 
days before, had she seen him so much at peace 


ON THE ST. LA WHENCE 


69 


with the world. For a time, she watched him 
without speaking, loath to break in upon his 
mood. She even indicated their way by a silent 
gesture of her hand. Then, as the horse scram- 
bled up a sharp incline and turned eastward out 
from the shadow of the woods, she pointed back- 
ward to the huge river, lying sapphire blue 
beneath a sapphire sky. The tide was flowing 
outward past the long line of the Island, and, 
far to the westward, the tower of the parliament 
building marked the crest of the city more than 
twenty miles away. 

Sidney gave a little impetuous sigh of sheer 
happiness. 

“ Oh, I do just love things like that ! ” she burst 
out abruptly. “Now aren’t you glad you came 
with us. Cousin Wade ? ” 

Turning, he stared, not at the distant land- 
scape, but at her eager face. 

“Very. It only remains to be seen what you 
are going to do with me.” 

“Make you useful, of course.” 

His answering laugh was bitter. 

“ Precisely. But there is a limit to my useful- 
ness.” 

Her colour came, as it never failed to do when 
Wade’s tone took on that little cutting accent. 
The young Stayres, as a family, were prone to 


70 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


settle their disagreements by straight blows, not 
by pricks, and Sidney took none too kindly to 
the new process. For an instant, she eyed Wade 
with disfavour. Then she controlled her voice. 

“Very likely,” she responded, with perfect 
outward calm, as she reached over and took the 
reins from his listless grasp. “ It merely happens 
that I Ve not discovered it yet.” 

Three hours later, the hush of contentment and 
repletion lay over the group. P’tit, the only 
alert member of the company, was busy clear- 
ing off the fern-bordered table and packing away 
the slender remnants of their feast. Paul and 
Janet had strayed off to the bank of the river 
and were already engrossed in their lines and 
bait. Judith, dainty and unruffled, was comfort- 
ably settled with her back against a tree, with 
Ronald at her feet. Sidney, her blouse dotted 
with scraps of lichen and her shoes coated with 
clay, surveyed her cousin with some disgust. 

“How do you do it, Judith?” she demanded, 
as, chip in hand, she essayed to scrape the mud 
from her shoes. 

Judith untucked one slender brown shoe from 
the folds of her skirt and eyed it distrustfully. 

“I don’t have to do it,” she answered. “There 
isn’t anything there.” 

Sidney sat up and brushed the hair from her eyes. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


71 


“That’s what I mean. You look as cool and 
as tidy as if you hadn’t swung yourself down 
over the side of a mountain. How do you con- 
trive to do it ? ” 

“I don’t know,” Judith made languid response, 
as she once more tucked her foot out of sight and 
settled her skirt anew. 

Ronald glanced up from the basket which he 
was deftly shaping from the sheets of pale birch 
bark by his side. He did know. In the intervals 
of instructing Judith just where to place each 
foot, he had found time to cast occasional admir- 
ing glances towards Sidney who, scorning all 
help, went scrambling down the almost perpen- 
dicular wall of the forest, swinging herself from 
branch to branch, clambering over fallen, moss- 
covered logs and sliding in the shifting sand of 
the pathway. P’tit himself, trained guide and 
woodsman that he was, had had hard work to 
keep her off from his very heels. He had guided 
many girls before now. Most of them squealed 
and sat down, when they came to a hard place in 
the trail. This girl was of a new type to him. 
His little dark eyes had sparkled with enthusiasm, 
as he had watched her while, intrepid and dis- 
dainful of all help, she had taken the final head- 
long plunge at which most of his followers had 
balked. 


72 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Ronald had been long upon the descent. His 
time had been well-employed, however, and he 
breathed a sigh of satisfaction when he landed 
Judith, unscathed in person and in clothing, 
beside her rosy and dishevelled cousin. As for 
J anet, she had scorned a guide entirely, and had 
brought Paul to the bottom by a route devious 
and safe and known to herself alone. It was 
slowly dawning upon Paul, in the past few days, 
that JanePs character belied her demure exterior. 

The hush came again, following naturally upon 
the languid cadence of Judith’s speech. It was 
Judith herself who broke it. 

“I wonder what Wade is doing.” 

Ronald glanced up again. 

“ Poor chap ! ” he said gravely. “ It ’s mighty 
hard lines.” 

‘‘Do you suppose he cares? ” Judith said slowly. 

With a swift gesture, Ronald slashed his basket 
in two. 

“ Cares ! To be treated like that ! ” he said. 

“Oh, Ronald! That pretty basket!” Judith 
reproached him. 

Ronald sat staring at the flimsy pieces with 
frowning intentness. 

“It’s about the way of it, Judith,” he said. 
“Wade doesn’t talk much; when he does, I gen- 
erally know what he means, though.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


73 


“What has he told you?’’ Judith asked, while 
she bent forward, picked up the broken sheet of 
birch and fell to tearing it into shreds. 

“Precious little. That he intended to make 
himself a record; that he studied law, started 
out fairly well, had things as he wanted them 
for a year or two; and then — ” 

“ And then ? ” Sidney echoed, as she sat up 
suddenly and cast aside her chip. 

“That is all.” 

The girl turned herself about sharply and faced 
him. 

“No; it isn’t all,” she contradicted. “Nothing 
ever is. If it is n’t one thing, it is another.” 

“But he can’t go on with his profession,” 
Judith urged. 

“Then let him go on with something else,” 
Sidney retorted. 

For the space of an instant, Ronald reflected 
that there were other things in life besides rush- 
ing headlong over obstacles. Sidney was treating 
Wade’s limitations, just then, a good deal as she 
had treated the logs in her path. 

“Aren’t you a bit hard on him?” he asked, 
with simple directness. 

And Sidney answered just as directly, — 

“No; or, if I am, it is just to keep him from 
being hard on himself. It is no fun for a man to 


74 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


be left to sit alone and watch us going off to do 
things ; but, unless he wakes up and finds some- 
thing he can do, himself, it won’t be long before 
he settles down and takes it as a matter of 
course. ” 

Judith’s answer held a ring of discourage- 
ment. 

“Well, is n’t it a matter of course? ” 

Sidney rose to her feet and faced about un- 
dauntedly. 

“No. If Wade Winthrop can’t do law and 
athletics, this summer, he can do something else. 
I don’t know what that something is; but I am 
going to make it my business to find out. Mean- 
while — ” 

“ What now ? ” Ronald inquired, as he shifted 
his ground and reflected that, after all, a head- 
long rush was not so bad, as long as the person 
rushing dragged some one else along in her 
train. 

“Meanwhile, I am going up now to play with 
Wade.” 

Judith sat up, aghast. 

“ Sidney ! You can’t ! ” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“You don’t know the trail.” 

“ Of course I do. I ’ve just come down. ” 

“ But you have n’t even seen the falls. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


75 


Sidney’s smile faded. 

“I know, Judith. I’d like to; but they must 
wait. Some day, we can come again.” 

Judith spoke with some impatience. 

“Don’t be silly and sentimental about Wade, 
Sidney. He is all right. And we have delayed 
coming here, until you could come with us. 
You ’ve not seen a thing yet. You must stay. 
And, just because I spoke of Wade’s being lone- 
some, it ’s not fair of you to turn conscientious 
and go dashing off to stay with him.” 

But Sidney lifted her chin proudly. 

“Don’t worry, Judith. You didn’t start my 
New England conscience to working, this time. 
I didn’t invite Wade to come with us, just for 
the sake of spending the whole day alone with 
the horse. ” 

“ But you ’ll spoil everything, if you don’t go 
up the ravine, when the whole day was planned 
on your account.” Judith’s tone was rebuking. 

Sidney spoke more quietly. 

“I ’d love to go; you don’t know how I want it. 
But I was the one who asked Wade to come, and 
I intend to see to it that he wants to come 
again. ” 

Then Judith interposed her last barrier. 

“But he doesn’t want you,” she said calmly. 

“ How do you know ? ” Sidney demanded. 


76 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Because,” Judith made tranquil answer; 
“Wade doesn’t care for girls.” 

For an instant Sidney hesitated. 

“Well, I’ll risk it,” she said then, ' as she 
turned towards the foot of the trail. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


77 


CHAPTER SIX 

S HE found Wade stretched out on his rug, 
asleep in the sun. One slim brown hand 
was under his head, the other lay open by his 
side. Fifty feet away, the horses were munching 
contentedly in the shade of a habitant’s barn; 
and, across the narrow road, the habitant’s wife 
came out of the house, her arms full of unbaked 
loaves, and crossed the dooryard towards her 
out-door oven. Sidney halted for a moment at 
Wade’s side. Her first impulse was to wake him 
up and laugh at him for his drowsiness. Then, 
as she studied the thin, dark face, sorrowful even 
in its sleep, she resolved not to disturb him, and 
walked softly away in the direction of the house 
where the habitant’s wife, setting her pans in a 
row on the ground, was busy raking the ashes 
out from the middle of the oven. 

“Mademoiselle has perhaps returned from the 
falls ? ” she asked, as Sidney paused at her side. 

The accent was courteous and friendly ; but, in 
her absorption in her ashes, the speaker let the 
last words end with a falling cadence. The 


78 


SIDN£:Y: her summer 


words, spoken rapidly and in the country patois, 
defied Sidney’s ear. Not so the cadence ; that 
was unmistakable. 

“No,” she answered unhesitatingly. 

The woman, stooping to pick up her tins of 
bread, paused with her broad back half bent, and 
stared at the girl in surprise. 

“ Mademoiselle does not understand the 
French ? ” she queried. 

“Yes,” Sidney replied optimistically. 

With her straightened hand, the woman im- 
printed a deep cleft in each of the loaves, then 
slid the loaves into the oven. 

“The young man in the field, is he your 
driver ? ” she asked. 

“Yes,” Sidney said again. 

“ But he takes no care of the horses at all. My 
goodman found them eating the grain which had 
been set aside for the hogs. When he explained 
it, the driver only laughed; but perhaps he does 
not speak the French as you do. Many of the 
people who come here do not. Many people come 
here in order to see the falls. They leave their 
horses here and, when they return, they often ask 
me to prepare a supper for them. Is it your wish 
that I prepare supper for your friends ? ” 

Sidney gasped, as she received this volley of 
language which so plainly ended with a question. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


79 


Then she rallied. Her past responses, albeit 
offered at random, had appeared to fulfil her 
social duty. She would apply the same method 
yet once again. What matter if it were a bit 
malapropos ? The woman might interpret it after 
the light of her understanding. Happily, however, 
Sidney’s reply was not malapropos in the least. 

“Yes,” she answered calmly; “yes, Madame; 
it is well.” 

The woman received her longer utterance with 
such obvious satisfaction that Sidney’s inherent 
distrust of her own French vanished. Now she 
would start some conversation upon her own ac- 
count. Kesting her elbow on the whitewashed 
boards which roofed in the oven, she ransacked 
her mind for an appropriate vocabulary. To her 
annoyance, it seemed to her that her past training 
had dealt exclusively with paper and pens and 
ink, with the very long tail of the kitten of the 
yellow cat and with the new rake of wood of 
the good gardener’s wife. Sidney knitted her 
brows; then her face cleared. 

“Is it that Madame has roasted her bread in 
the fire, all the days of the week ? ” she asked 
slowly and with an inflection which betokened 
the profoundest interest. 

The woman jerked the last loaf into the oven 
with a wholly unnecessary emphasis. 


80 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“My bread is of the best,” she said shortly. 

Sidney saw that something was wrong. She 
hastened to apply a plaster. 

“ Perhaps, ” she said soothingly. 

“Without doubt.” The answer was still un- 
compromising. Nevertheless, Sidney, in her 
pleasure at understanding the crisp phrase, paid 
no heed to its import. She merely pursued the 
subject farther. 

“During how many days, days of the week, 
will this bread be eaten ? ” she questioned. 

The woman stared at her uncomprehendingly. 
Sidney sought to explain. 

“Eaten. Eaten with the teeth.” She drew 
back her lips and wagged her jaw suggestively. 

“ If Madame does not roast the bread in the fire, 
all the days of the week, how long will the 
roasted bread remain to be eaten with the teeth 
since — since — I mean before — ” 

The woman looked at her, jerked open the oven 
door, looked in, jerked together the oven door and 
looked at Sidney again. Moreover, the expres- 
sion in her eyes suggested her possible belief that 
Sidney was demented. Once more Sidney sought 
to explain, although, for some reason, no part of I 
her vocabulary appeared to lend itself to the ^ 
discussion. < 

“The son of Madame, and the daughter of ? 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


81 


Madame, also the — the — the man of Madame, 
do they eat well ? ” she queried, with seeming 
discursiveness. 

Madame rubbed her nose with her homespun 
pinafore. 

“But yes,” she granted grudgingly. 

“ Do they eat the roasted bread ? ” 

“ But yes. How otherwise ? ” 

Then Sidney rose to a triumphant climax. 

“How many days do they eat the roasted 
bread ? ” 

“Eh?” 

“ How many days of the week do the daughter 
of Madame and the son of Madame and the man 
of Madame eat the roasted bread ? ” 

The girl spoke rapidly and with an assurance 
which led her to forget her hard-learned lesson of 
swallowing half her consonants and uttering the 
other half of them by the transforming medium 
of her nose. The woman looked at her inquir- 
ingly, uncomprehendingly. Then her left shoul- 
der mounted towards the lobe of her ear, and she 
shook her head in a cornerwise fashion which was 
as exasperating as were her next words. 

“No und-stan’ English,” she said, with careful 
emphasis, and Sidney suddenly bethought herself 
that it was time for Wade to be awake. 

His back was towards her, as she came softly to 
6 


82 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


him over the thick, tall grass. His arms folded 
on his knees, he sat looking down upon the valley 
at his feet, a peaceful, open valley of tilled fields 
and grazing cattle, and marked with the white 
stripe of a distant village which wound up the 
slope to the great gray stone church whose shin- 
ing roof caught the full glare of the noontide sun. 
Beyond it rose the purple Laurentides, peak upon 
peak, their softly-rounded crests bearing witness 
to the fact that they were old when all the rest 
of the earth was but newly risen from the seas. 
Close at his feet, a long, wavering line of wood- 
land covered the deep gash which the Grande 
Riviere had cut through the fertile valley, and 
shut away from his thoughtful eyes every hint of 
the glorious falls beneath. For one swift instant, 
Sidney wondered how it would seem to be, like 
Wade just then, on the edge of things, but not in 
them. Then, as she came closer to his side, she 
spoke his name. 

He turned about sharply and faced her. 

“ Sidney ! What are you doing here ? ” 

Deliberately she straightened out the corner of 
the rug. 

“Preparing to sit down beside you,’’ she an- 
swered then. 

“ Where are the others ? ” 

Following the example of her late companion, 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


83 


she too sought to rub her shoulder against the lobe 
of her ear. Failing that, she raised her brows 
and shook her head. 

“Down there, somewhere,’^ she replied vaguely; 
“ that is, unless they have come up again. ’’ 

“ Why are n’t you with them ? ” 

“Because I am unable to be in two places at 
once,” she responded. “Being here, I naturally 
am not there.” 

He looked her over in obvious amusement. She 
grew restive under his scrutiny. 

“ Well ? ” she demanded. 

“Have you been squabbling with Judith ? ” 

“ I never squabble, ” she replied a little loftily. 

“ Perhaps not. I grieve to say that J udith does, 
though. ” 

But Sidney corrected him. 

“Oh, no. Judith never would squabble,” she 
observed dispassionately. “Squabbling would be 
too hasty for her; she might perhaps disagree. 
Still, it takes two to make a disagreement.” 

“ And you never disagree ? ” 

“Not for long,” she answered, half laughing, 
half in aggressiveness. “ When I do, I make* the 
other one give in and agree with me, or else I let 
him alone. I wouldn’t fight with Judith, any- 
way; she is too tranquil. It would be like 
pounding a feather bolster.” 


84 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ How about me ? ” he suggested. 

She eyed him mockingly. 

“ You ’ll do better. I think I will begin on you 
now.” 

But he put up his arm, as if in self-defence. 

“Oh, don’t! ” he urged, and there was a ring of 
earnestness underneath the mockery of his tone. 
“1 ’m not in good fighting trim now, Tiddles.” 

She looked up at him sharply; but her keen 
gray eyes softened at his use of Paul’s name for her. 

“ Why not ? ” she asked, with steady directness. 

For a moment, his eyes met hers. Then he 
answered steadily, — 

“Because it is taking all my nerve to fight 
another battle.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

Again came the little pause, before he said, — 

“It’s not manners to talk about one’s self, 
and it never improves a bad matter to discuss it. 
Still, do you know, Tiddles, I don’t seem to mind 
saying it to you. I ’ve a notion you ’ll under- 
stand, and I know you won’t repeat. It ’s only 
that, at twenty-seven — it’s not so easy to face 
the end of things.” 

Sidney drew in her breath. Then her left 
hand shut over the closed fingers of her right. It 
would be so easy to say the wrong thing, so easy 
and so cruel. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


85 


“You mean ? ’’ she asked slowly. 

“That my father had consumption, and that, 
last May, I found things weren’t any too right 
with my own lungs.” Then Wade’s mouth shut 
to a stiff line; but the line curved down at the 
ends. 

For an instant, the colour dropped out of Sid- 
ney’s face. So this was the cause of the trouble 
in her cousin’s eyes. And now and then, during 
the past four days, she had mentally reproached 
him with being indolent and a bit morose. 

“ What do they say about it ? ” she questioned 
steadily. 

Wade laughed. 

“The usual thing, I suppose. No disease yet, 
only the chance that it may come later. Living 
out-doors, no work, no athletics, no excitement. 
I may live to be ninety-seven years and nine 
months old ; I must live like a caterpillar in the 
sun, though.” 

Sidney sought about her for consoling words. 

“But the sun is bright,” she suggested. 

“Naturally. However, that doesn’t signify 
that the caterpillar is also bright. Sidney, I 
don’t mean to make a fuss; but, after all, it 
isn’t an inspiring prospect.” 

For her only answer, she moved a trifle nearer 
to his side and put her hand on his, as it absently 


86 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


twisted the fringe of the rug. Something in the 
gesture pleased him, and he gave her hand a 
hearty grip. Then he straightened up and threw 
back his shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, Tiddles,” he said then. “I’ve 
made my moan. It ’s the first time I ’ve done it, 
and I imagine it will be the last. I ’m rather 
ashamed of myself; and yet, though you may not 
suspect it, it’s been rather a comforting process. 
You ’ll keep still about it, though ? ” 

“ Of course. ” 

“You’d better. I don’t want Judith wailing 
over me. She ’s a dear child ; but her sympathy 
would be a little like the bunches of violets they 
send to convicts,” he said whimsically. “I’d a 
general notion you wouldn’t get tearful.” 

Sidney gave a hasty gulp. 

“I’m not,” she said valiantly. “It’s horrid, 
Wade; it makes me sick. I knew something was 
wrong; but you were so quiet and plucky that I 
never supposed it was as bad as this, and — ” 
Her voice broke. 

Wade laughed a little, as he watched her; but 
his laugh was free from any taint of bitterness. 
Instead of his cousin’s consoling him, it plainly 
was his duty to console his cousin. And yet, 
strange to say, her girlish woe was the best tonic 
he could have had just then. Under the present 



“ ^IDNE Y sat with her thoughtful 
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ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


87 


conditions, he had not expected to win the regard 
of a healthy, energetic young thing like Sidney, 
and it was good to find that, after so short an 
acquaintance, she really did like him to the point 
of caring for his bitter disappointment. 

“It is rather bad,” he said then. “It’s not so 
much the disease itself. That may never show 
up. But I hate the idea of being put on my 
honour to sit down and rust out of life. I liked 
my profession; I liked to work, and I was just 
getting to where my work was beginning to show. 
And now — ” 

The pause lengthened. Wade was frowning 
down at the rug; Sidney sat with her thoughtful 
eyes fixed upon the valley at her feet. At length 
she spoke, gently, but with an accent of finality 
which acted like a spur upon the man at her side. 

“It is about as bad as it can be, Wade; but it 
might be even a little worse. Your plans are 
broken all to pieces.” 

“Yes,” he assented. “All to pieces.” 

She turned to face him and, for the moment, 
her girlish face took on the lines of womanhood. 

“Yes. And now the next thing for us to do, 
is to pick up the pieces and fit them together into 
something else.” 

“ Us ? ” he questioned. 

“Yes, us. Don’t leave me out of it, Wade. It 


88 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


is never half so easy to work alone. Besides, we 
girls like to feel we count for something. I don^t 
want to go home and have nothing to show for my 
summer.’’ 

“But you came up here to have a good time,” 
he objected. 

“Certainly. I intend to have it,” she replied 
conclusively. 

He shook his head. 

“Not if you dodder around with me.” 

“I know that,” she agreed with him rather un- 
expectedly. “Therefore I intend that you shall 
not dodder.” 

“But it is the law,” he reminded her. 

“Don’t be too sure of that.” Then her intona- 
tion changed swiftly. “Wade, I don’t want to be 
too horrid. Please don’t be cross at me. It is 
only that, if I were in your place, I should go 
mad without something to do.” 

“Precisely,” he assented. “That is what is 
the matter with me.” 

Her elbows on her knees and her chin on her 
fists, Sidney stared at him with frowning intent- 
ness. 

“Just exactly how much can you do ? ” she de- 
manded. 

“Just exactly nothing.” 

Sidney frowned still more intently. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


.89 


‘‘That’s nonsense,” she said slowly. “You do 
things, every day.” 

“Precious little, Sidney.” Then he sat up and 
counted off the details on his fingers. “I must 
not study. I must not spend needless time in the 
house. I must not take any violent exercise. 
Above all, ” he waggled his thumb at her in bitter 
derision ; “ above all, I must not worry about 
myself, and I must not allow myself to be de- 
pressed.” 

Sidney bit her lip for a moment. Then she 
lifted her outspread hand. 

“And you must walk a little, every day. You 
must explore all the drives within twenty miles. 
You must teach me to play chess in the evenings. 
You must bait my hook, when I go fishing. 
Above all,” she waggled her own thumb back at 
him gayly; “above all, when you feel an attack 
of the blues coming on, you must promise to hunt 
me up, and we ’ll mingle our tears together and 
compare the flavour of the salt.” She laughed a 
little, as she spoke. Then she held out her hand. 
“Is it a bargain. Cousin Wade?” she asked 
blithely. 

And, quite contrary to all of his previous inten- 
tions, Wade Winthrop took the outstretched hand. 

“Yes,” he assented. “It is a bargain.” 

She gave his hand a vigorous squeeze. Then 


90 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


hastily she let it drop again. Over Wade’s 
shoulder, she had caught sight of the others 
coming towards her from across the fields, and 
she was shrewd enough to suspect that her cousin 
would not care to be caught in any demonstration 
whatsoever. 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you told 
me about it. It is better, once in a while, to talk 
things over. I never tell tales; and, besides, I 
may find some more ways in which you can be 
made useful.” Then she looked up unconcernedly 
to meet Judith who swept down upon her like an 
accusing spirit. 

“Sidney, did you order supper over at that 
house ? ” she demanded. 

Sidney faced her with an expression of blank 
and wholly innocent amazement. 

“I? Of course not.” 

“But she says you did,” 

“ Who is she f ” 

“The woman who lives there. She has the 
tables all set for us.” 

Paul licked his lips hungrily. 

“Yes, there are gallons of berries and whole 
bushels of cream, ” he urged. “ Let ’s go and eat 
them, quick.” 

“But I didn’t say anything to her about sup- 
per,” Sidney protested. 


Oisr THE ST. LAWRENCE 


91 


“ She says you told her to get supper ready for 
us, when we came up from the falls,” Judith 
reiterated. 

Deliberately Wade rose to his feet, and turned 
to offer his hand to his cousin. 

“Then, as Paul says, we ’d best go and eat it,” 
he advised them. 

But, disregarding his outstretched hand, Sidney 
sat staring up at him with merry eyes in which 
there lingered no trace of her emotion of a few 
moments before. 

“Cousin Wade,” she said gayly; “I think I 
would suggest that you add to your other spheres 
of usefulness the extra duty of teaching me to 
understand a little more French.” 

Bending down, he clinched his hands in hers, 
as if to lift her to her feet. She anticipated his 
effort, however; but not so quickly as to lose his 
low words, — 

“Never mind the French, Tiddles. You under- 
stood me, and that ’s much more to the purpose.” 


92 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER SEVEN 

R uth was counting out. Her best doll, her 
second-best doll, Jumbo and Bungay were 
ranged in line before her, and her fat pink finger 
kept time to her words. 

“ Un, (ieuxj trots, quatre, 

PHit vache a mat aux paites. 

Tira le par le queue, 

Se le rendra mieuxi" 

“ P’huh ! ” Bungay snorted disdainfully. “ What 
does that mean, Ruth ? 

Ruth translated rapidly. 

“Own calf has a lame foot, and if Ruth pulls 
his tail, he’ll feel better.” 

Bungay pondered. 

“ Then why did n’t you say so ? ” 

“ Ruth did. ” 

“You didn’t, too. You said a lot of grunts 
and things.” 

“Ruth said it in French,” she explained loftily. 
Bungay eyed her with manifest hostility. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


98 


“ Show-off cat ! he observed. 

“Am not.’’ 

“Yes, you are. Sidney says so.” 

Ruth stood her ground. 

“Don’t care what Sidney says.” 

“And Paul — ” 

With infinite dignity, Ruth interrupted Bungay 
who was carried quite out of his usual limits of 
truth by the need of driving home his point. 

“Paul is own brother,” she said conclusively. 

“I know that. So is Sidney my sister, and 
she ’s older than Paul, ” Bungay protested. 

But again Ruth asserted herself. 

“Paul’s feet are lots bigger, anyhow.” 

To the maturer mind, the last words would 
have sounded irrelevant. However, they silenced 
Bungay on that score, and swiftly he changed the 
subject back to the original issue. 

“You are a show-off cat and a goop, too,” he 
shouted, with full-lunged opposition. 

“ What is a goop ? ” Ruth demanded. 

“It’s a thing, and its name is Ruth Addison.” 

Ruth retaliated. 

“ So ’re you a thing, and your name is Goop. ” 

“ ’T is not. What do you suppose I do with 
Jumbo, when he shows off?” 

Like a true woman, Ruth found herself unable 
to withstand her own curiosity. 


94 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ What ? ” she demanded. 

“I slap him, and so,’’ Bungay faced about 
swiftly; “I’m going to slap you.” 

However, Ruth was too quick for him. Dodg- 
ing his out-thrust arm, she sprang to one side. 
The next instant, two pink fists were half-buried 
in Bungay’s yellow hair. Bungay’s heel swept 
backward once and yet again, and two high- 
pitched shrieks mingled in an irate duet. 

Instantly two remonstrant voices came down 
from the gallery above, turning the duet to the 
likeness of a fugue. 

“ Bungay, stop being so naughty to Ruth. ” 
“Come off from that, Ruth! You ’ll kill him.” 
The duet arose once more. 

“ He slapped me I ” 

“ She pulled my hair 1 ” 

“ He was teasing me 1 ” 

“ She was showing off 1 ” 

“ You ’re a bomerable boy, Bungay Stayre ! ” 
“You ’re a tattle-tale, Ruth Addison! ” 

“Stop!” 

“ Let go ! ” 

But a third element appeared upon the field of 
battle. This was Ronald Leslie who, ruddy and 
hilarious, swept Ruth up into the curve of one 
arm, and dangled Bungay by his patent leather 
belt from the other hand. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


95 


“Shut up, youngsters! What’s the matter 
with you?” he said, as he deposited them both 
in the same hammock, and then bundled the 
hammock into a closed bag. 

The duet began again. 

“ He teases me ! ” 

“ She bothers me ! ” 

“ I wish he ’d go home I ” 

“ I hate girls ! ” 

But the victory fell to Ruth. With a deftly- 
aimed squirm, she stuck her head out of the 
hammock and smiled up at Ronald ingratiatingly. 

“Ruth loves own Ronald,” she observed. 

“I don’t love you,” Bungay commented vin- 
dictively. 

Ruth turned a deaf ear to the mutterings at her 
elbow. 

“Ruth will kiss own Ronald,” she pursued. 

With a laugh, Ronald stooped to receive the 
caress; but Ruth drew back. 

“ Ruth can’t kiss nicely, when she ’s all bundled 
up in a heap,” she objected. 

Ronald flapped the edge of the hammock over 
her head again. 

“ Do you want to get out ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Will you be good ? ” 

“Yes.” 


96 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ And not hurt Bungay ? ” 

“Huh! She couldn’t hurt me; she’s nothing 
but a girl. Anyhow, I hurt her first and a whole 
lot the most, ” Bungay protested suddenly. 

“ Did not. Ruth pulled hair, and some of it is 
on own fingers now. ” 

The argument was unanswerable, save by phys- 
ical force. With a wail, Bungay cast himself 
upon Ruth, and they prepared to fight it out 
sociably within the narrow limits of the ham- 
mock. For a moment, Ronald eyed them mirth- 
fully. Then, reversing his former tactics, he 
opened out the hammock and, with a swift turn, 
emptied both children out upon the thick, soft 
grass. 

“There!” he advised them. “Fight it out, if 
you must. The sooner that peace is declared, 
the better for all parties.” 

But Bungay had a theory of his own. Scram- 
bling to his feet, he seized Jumbo by the trunk, 
smote Ruth over the shoulders and then fled, 
shrieking, to bury his head in Judith’s lap. 

However, Ruth still held the victory. 

“That did n’t hurt any,” she proclaimed, after 
an interval of silent tongue-wagging at her quon- 
dam foe. “ Ruth does n’t care to play with little 
boys now. She is going out to walk with own 
Ronald and Judith.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


97 


This time, it was Ronald’s turn to protest. 

“No; you ’re not, young woman.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“Because we don’t want you.” 

Ruth fingered a fold of her pink skirt. 

“ Ruth wants Ronald. ” 

“ Then Ruth does n’t always get her wants. 
You are going to stay at home and play with 
Bungay.” 

Ruth’s face fell. Child though she was, she 
realized the finality in Ronald’s tone. 

“Ruth wants to go with own Ronald,” she 
iterated slowly. Then she steadied her quivering 
lips. “ What shall Ruth play ? ” 

And Ronald made answer, with a rashness of 
which he was swift to repent, — 

“ I think, if I were in your place, I would play 
Noah and the ark.” 

The idea appealed to Ruth, and promptly she 
forgot her recent animosity. 

“ Goody good ! ” she cried. “ Come, Bungay, 
come quick. Own Ronald says let ’s play be 
Noah and the ark. Hurry up, and bring Jumbo. 
I’ll be Noah.” 

Bungay lifted his head and wiped his eyes on 
Jumbo’s flank. 

“ Who ’ll be I ? ” he demanded. 

But Ruth was ready for him. 

7 


98 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“You can be one of Noah’s little boys, and own 
best doll can be the other. Own second-best doll 
can be a rangatang, and the new little cats will 
do for bears. Hurry up and get ’em all loaded, 
before it rains. ” And together they departed in 
the direction of the barn. 

Sidney, on the upper gallery, was busy tying 
flies under the direction of Paul and Janet. Now 
she paused from her work and, bending over the 
rail, looked after the children. 

“Bungay has met his match,” she observed, 
and there was an accent of satisfaction in her 
voice. 

“Is it something new ? ” Janet inquired, as she 
deftly wrapped a coil of scarlet silk about two 
gray feathers and a fishhook. 

“ It is the first time in his life. ” 

“Really ? ” Janet’s tone expressed her wonder. 
“Does n’t he ever mind ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; he minds well enough, as a general 
thing, only he doesn’t stay minded. That is,” 
Sidney added hastily, as she recalled certain 
recent episodes with her small brother; “he 
minds my father and mother. But that ’s an- 
other matter. It is one thing to obey the powers ; 
it is another to be downed in a fair fight.” 

Paul sighed a little ostentatiously. 

“Obviously,” he said. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


99 


Her head on one side, Janet considered the 
poise of her fly. Then, satisfied with the scru- 
tiny, she leaned forward and placed it with the 
other flies on the rail. 

‘‘I don’t believe you know much about it,” she 
remarked thoughtfully. 

“Me ? I always have to knock under,” he pro- 
tested. 

“I don’t mean you, Paul. Your bark is worse 
than your bite, every time. I found that out, 
days ago. But I meant Sidney.” 

Sidney pursed out her lips and meditated aloud. 

“I don’t know. Yes. No. I am not so sure 
that I do. My fights mostly are n’t fair ones, 
anyway. I ’d rather fight a bigger man than my- 
self ; then I don’t feel so mean, when 1 come out 
on top.” 

“Nor when he comes out on top of you,” Paul 
added shrewdly. 

She- laughed. 

“No; I don’t, Paul. That is a fact. But, do 
you know, he usually does n’t come out on top. 
As a rule, if I make up my mind to anything, it 
goes to work and does itself.” 

Janet’s tone was still thoughtful. 

“You ’re a very managing sort of girl, Sidney.” 

Sidney’s colour came a little hotly. 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” she asked. 

Lore. 


100 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Janet settled her chin on her shut fists and 
spoke at the gallery railing. There was no ran- 
cour in her voice, no criticism. It was merely 
that she seemed to be stating an indisputable 
truth. 

“Why, you like to try to manage people, and 
get them to do things they don’t want to, and 
make their plans for them,” she said slowly. 

Sidney sat up straight. 

“Janet Leslie, I don’t do any such thing.” 

“Yes, you do. It’s all right, and I suppose 
you help them along a great deal. It is only I 
don’t see how you dare do it.” 

“But I don’t do it.” Sidney’s tone was as con- 
tradictious as Bungay’s had been. 

“Yes, you do.” 

“ Who do I manage ? ” Sidney asked, in wrath- 
ful disregard of her accusative case. 

“Well, Mr. Winthrop, for one.” 

“Wade Winthrop! What an idea! ” 

Paul looked up from his own fly. 

“ Fact, Tiddles, and you may just as well admit 
it. Since you tackled him, Wade doesn’t dare 
say his soul is his own. I don’t think he minds 
it, not as I should. He seems to take it all as 
rather a joke.” 

“But — I don’t,” Sidney protested lamely. 
“Besides, I hate managing women.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


101 


Paul’s next words, albeit jovial, nevertheless 
struck home. 

“So much the better. Then you won’t get 
a fit of swelled head. Where are you going, 
Tiddles ? ” 

“Up-stairs.” 

“What for?” 

“To — ” She laughed a little, by way of 
steadying her voice. All the gentler side of her 
nature, in those last days, had been giving itself 
wholly to Wade Winthrop, and Paul’s random 
criticism had hurt her to the quick. “To — 
think things over.” 

Paul stared after her a little uneasily. 

“You don’t suppose she’s cross; do you, 
Janet ? ” 

And J anet made serene answer, — 

“ Oh, no. Sidney is never cross. ” 

Nevertheless, fifteen minutes later, Paul sud- 
denly discovered that he had left his favourite 
knife on the table in his room. On the way to 
his room, his fist smote upon Sidney’s closed 
door. 

“Oh, Tiddles, do hurry up and come down,” he 
called through the keyhole. “Our flies are all 
in a boggle, and we want you to help unboggle 
them.” 

Meanwhile, a laden procession of two was has- 


102 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


tening from the barn to the river bank. Ruth led 
the way, as was befitting for one who sought to 
pose as Noah. Her two dolls, best and second- 
best, were under one arm, one hand clutched the 
hem of her skirt where an irate hen was strug- 
gling fiercely to escape from the folds which 
muffled her protesting squawks, and from the 
other hand trailed an aged umbrella. Bungay 
followed, his fat arms full of kittens which 
squirmed blindly to and fro, ever and anon 
freeing themselves from his clasp and dropping 
with a soft thud to the ground at his feet. 
Jumbo, with a bit of rope attached to his long- 
suffering trunk, followed after the procession, 
though no self-respecting elephant would have 
claimed kinship with the cloth effigy which 
ploughed along on its back with its legs stiffly 
supporting the debris which they had gathered up 
in their course. Then, as one yellow and scaly leg 
clove Ruth’s front breadth in twain, she halted 
for an instant and glanced up at the azure sky. 

“ Hurry up, Ham ! It ’s going to rain, ” she 
admonished her companion. 

But Bungay was still in the ranks of the oppo- 
sition, and, opposition-wise, felt it his duty to 
contradict the government. 

“ I ain’t Ham ; I ’m Shem. ” 

Ruth stamped her foot impatiently. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


103 


“Well, Shem, then. Do hurry up.” 

Bungay felt it was time he scored. 

“The ostricks has tored your clothes in two, 
and Auntie Jack will smack you,” he announced 
triumphantly. 

Ruth looked at him dubiously. 

“ Do you s’pose she will ? She does n^t gener- 
ally, ’cept at bedtime.” 

Bungay explained. 

“ I don’t mean smack with her mouth ; I mean 
smack with a stick.” 

Ruth turned discursive. 

“ Noah must hurry into own ark. It is going 
to rain, and rain, and rain for forty years and 
forty weeks, and it will cover up all the land and 
all the water and all the mountains — ” 

Bungay interrupted. 

“ ’T won’t, too. It will run off.” 

“And all the whole earth,” Ruth resumed; 
“and Ste. Anne’s Mountain and Beacon Hill and 
by and by the Bunker Hill monument. ” 

Bungay became interested. 

“And the ’Quarium and the Hendryk Hudson,” 
he added, as he made a clutch at a spotty white 
kitten which was seeking to escape from his 
embrace. 

“Stick her in your shirt,” Ruth suggested 
practically. “ What ’s the Hendryk Hudson ? ” 


104 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“It ’s our house, and it ’s twenty-eleven stories 
high.” 

“It is not. It would tip over. You ’ll get 
punished, if you tell lies,’’ Ruth admonished 
him. “Ruth had to have own nightgown on in 
the daytime.’’ 

Again Bungay scored. 

“That’s ’cause you’re a girl,” he said scorn- 
fully. “ Boys don’t wear nightgowns ; they wear 
pajamas. ” 

“ What ’s pajamas ? ” 

“ They tie on with a string, ” Bungay explained 
lucidly. 

Ruth returned to the charge. 

“ Well, it ’s going to rain, and we shall get wet, 
if we don’t hurry. Besides, the ostricks is biting 
own stomach. ” 

And the procession hastened forward on its way 
to the ark. 

Just to the east of the village, a hill rose 
sharply from the river bank. Seen from its top, 
the valley lay spread out, stretching away for 
mile on mile up the mighty St. Lawrence, past 
the long point of land jutting out at L’Ange 
Gardien, past the westernmost end of the Isle of 
Orleans and on to the bend in the river where 
the gray old citadel with its scarlet dot was sil- 
houetted sharply against the noonday sky. Ron- 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


105 


aid and Judith, sitting at the top of the grassy 
slope, looked out upon the beauty of the summer 
noon and, as they looked, even their careless talk 
dropped away into silence. At last Judith’s eyes 
fell to the long stripe of the village at her feet, 
and then moved even nearer to the wide basin 
where Grande Rividre loiters for a moment, after 
its mad plunges down the mountains, before it 
slides onward to lose itself in the St. Lawrence, 
a quarter of a mile away. 

“That poor old boat never seems to get any 
rest,” she said idly. 

“ Who has it now ? ” 

“I don’t know. Wade, probably. He is the 
only one of us who would take to an umbrella.” 

“Perhaps it is your mother,” Ronald suggested, 
as he opened his knife and assaulted the turf at 
his feet. 

“She never goes there. She is afraid of the 
logs. ” 

“Well she may be. They are tricky things, 
until you get used to them. Janet was nearly 
drowned there once. Where is the boat ? I don’t 
see it. ” 

“ Over there, just going behind the point of the 
island. ” 

Ronald dropped his knife and shielded his eyes 
with his hands. Then he scrambled to his feet. 


106 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Can Wade swim ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“ I don’t know. I suppose so. Why ? ” 

“Because he is getting dangerously near the 
little dam. If the current catches him, he ’ll get 
nearer still, before he ’s out of it. I believe I ’ll 
go down there.” 

“What good can you do?” Judith asked 
placidly. “I know Wade can swim, and it’s not 
so very deep.” 

“Deeper than the top of my head; and Wade is 
in no sort of trim for a tussle with that current. 
It cuts through there like a millrace.” And, 
disdaining the roundabout path, Ronald went 
slipping and sliding down the sheer face of the 
hill towards the river at his very feet. 

J udith watched him, half in amusement at his 
needless fear, half in admiration for his lithe, 
alert figure. Then suddenly she sprang to her 
feet, for she had seen the umbrella swerve to one 
side and she had seen, as well, what was beneath it. 

“ Ronald ! Ronald ! Hurry ! ” she cried, and 
there was a note of terror in her usually placid 
voice. “Hurry fast! It is n’t Wade at all; it is 
those children. ” 

And Ronald, by this time on the very brink of 
the river, waved his hand in token that he heard. 
Then he tore off his coat, kicked away his shoes 
and sprang forward into the stream. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


107 


From her seat in the bow, Ruth watched him, 
as he came swimming towards her. The smooth 
current was cut sharply into two long, Y-shaped 
ripples beneath his powerful strokes and, above 
the ripples, his face showed white and set. Al- 
ready the current had caught the boat, and the 
little dam was hardly fifty feet away. Ronald 
was strong and in perfect training. Neverthe- 
less, the river was the stronger, and he felt his 
own strength going fast. Unless he could reach 
the boat, scramble in and seize the oars that lay 
in the bottom, the river would claim its own. 
He drew a long breath, made a mighty effort, 
touched the stern and felt it slide away from his 
outstretched hand. Once again he pulled together 
his scant remainder of physical and nervous force, 
and swept forward once again. This time, his 
hand closed on the edge of the boat. 

Ruth eyed him with dispassionate interest. 

“Hang on to the os tricks tight, Ham,’’ she ad- 
monished her companion. “The water is ’most 
over Beacon Hill now, and here comes the dove 
to pull us out.” 


108 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

T least three quarters of Mrs. Addison’s 



rv influence over the young people about her 
lay in her ready and respectful interest in their 
demands upon her time. When Sidney came into 
the room, she was writing to her husband, and 
the letter was an important one. Nevertheless, 
she laid down her pen and looked at her niece 
with care-free, smiling eyes, as the girl said a 
little abruptly, — 

“ Auntie J ack, do you know it is a perfect day ? 
Don’t you want to come for a walk ? ” 

For a short instant, Mrs. Addison hesitated. 
She was no pedestrian, and she knew that Sid- 
ney’s tireless energy had proved too much for 
even Paul. Then she fancied she saw trouble in 
the girl’s gray eyes, and she decided to abandon 
her letter. 

“ Are you sure you want the old lady ? ” she 
asked, as she rose. 

“ Certain sure. Else I should n’t invite you. ” 

“I will be ready in five minutes,” Mrs. Addi- 
son promised. 


ON THE ST. LAWEENCE 


109 


Sidney looked her over with some disapproval. 

‘‘ What ready do you need ? 

“ My hat, and some thicker shoes. ’’ 

But Sidney demurred. 

“We aren’t going where it is rough, and you 
don’t want a hat. ” 

“I always wear a hat.” 

“ What ’s the use ? It is mere vanity, because 
you think your pink and white complexion is be- 
coming. So it is; but a skin like yours never 
shows sunburn. Come.” 

Wade’s face appeared outside the open win- 
dow. 

“ Don’t you want me to come, too ? ” he in- 
quired. 

Sidney shook her head. 

“ Not this time,” she said obdurately. “We ’re 
going too far for you, and we want to talk girl- 
talk, too. You ’d best save up your energy till 
this afternoon.” 

“ What ’s this afternoon ? ” 

“We all are going for a long drive.” 

But he persisted. 

“I ’d rather go to walk with you.” 

The girl’s face fell. It was none too easy for 
her to refuse Wade, when he spoke in that tone 
and with that look in his eyes. Neither was it 
easy for her, nowadays, to adopt the prevailing 


110 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


method of leaving him to amuse himself alone. 
However, she hardened her heart, but not her 
voice, as she answered, — 

“I’m sorry, Wade; but the honest fact is that 
I don’t want you. I ’ve a chilly weight on my 
conscience, and I want to thaw it out by a good, 
long talk with your mother.” 

He laughed. 

“ Sure it is n’t indigestion, Tiddles ? ” he asked 
quizzically. “Soft-shell crabs always turn me 
testy. ” 

“Then so much the more reason you should 
keep out of my way, till I get over it,” she 
retorted. “Sorry, Wade. You are a good old 
thing; but this time, truly, I don’t want you.” 

“Then I shall go and play with Madame,” he 
returned philosophically. “Strange as it may 
seem, she always wants me.” 

And Sidney, as she stood looking after his trim, 
well-knit figure, decided that, in one respect at 
least, Madame was the possessor of sound common 
sense. Then her aunt joined her, and together 
they left the house and started towards the hills 
at the north of the village. 

Now that her wish was granted, and she had 
her aunt’s society quite to herself, the girl was 
strangely silent while they were climbing the 
sandy road under the pine trees. In fact, she 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


111 


had been strangely silent for three days now, ever 
since the morning when she had left Paul and 
Janet on the gallery and gone up to her own 
room. They all had noticed the change, had 
wondered at it, had even talked of it among 
themselves. Up to that time, Sidney, alert, 
enthusiastic, gay, had been the very life of the 
house. Now, all at once, she had lost her 
sparkle. Paul was loudest in his mourning over 
the change in his boon comrade; but in reality 
it was on Wade that the loss fell most heavily. 
He missed Sidney’s overflowing spirits, missed 
her jovial laugh, missed her teasing. Now and 
then, even, it seemed to him that she was trying 
to avoid him. She still kept up her evening 
game of chess with him; but by day, instead of 
loitering about at his side, she spent long hours 
with Judith and Ronald by the river, or sat on 
Janet’s gallery, talking with her and with Freda 
Leslie who had just returned from Riviere du 
Loup. 

And Wade looked after her with sombre eyes. 
She too was growing tired of him. Small won- 
der! Under some conditions and into some com- 
binations he would have followed her; but he and 
Judith never were able to hit it off well, and his 
one meeting with Freda Leslie had convinced him 
that no pleasure for him lay in the society of this 


112 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


taciturn English girl, so plainly absorbed in the 
glitter of her own engagement ring. Besides, 
Freda was a social factor, and must be treated 
accordingly. Sidney was nothing but a jolly 
little cousin who possessed the happy knack of 
fitting her personality into his somewhat aggres- 
sive needs. So much the worse for him, now 
that she had grown tired of him just as he had 
learned to depend upon her! Then he yawned 
and rolled over in the hammock, smiling at him- 
self in a swift wave of self-disgust. His mental 
fibre was growing as flabby as his physical one, 
if he had reached the point where he, Wade Win- 
throp, all-round honour man of his Harvard class, 
could depend for amusement upon the society 
of a sixteen-year-old school-girl. He wondered 
impatiently if those three girls would never stop 
chattering about their best clothes, and allow him 
to have a little sleep. 

This had been the state of affairs, up to that 
very morning. And then, when the chatter had 
stopped, Wade had rolled out of his hammock 
and followed Sidney back to the house, only to be 
told that she had no desire for his proffered com- 
pany. He chewed savagely at his mustache, all 
the way up the street to Madame’s house. 

Mrs. Addison was a little breathless with her 
climb, by the time she reached the top of the 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


113 


hill, and she dropped down on the bank by the 
roadside, to rest and to look at the wonderful 
panorama of river and mountain which met them 
on every hand, as soon as they rose above the level 
of the village street. At her side Sidney, mean- 
while, had picked up a bit of stick and was busily 
engaged in punching holes in the turf. Mrs. 
Addison broke the silence. 

“Wade has seemed like another man, these last 
two weeks, ” she said thoughtfully, although with 
no idea how closely she was coming to the cause 
of her niece’s absorption. 

Sidney looked up sharply. 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“That he seems better, more wide awake, more 
like his old self. Your coming has stirred him 
up wonderfully, Sidney.” 

Sidney punched another hole, buried a pebble 
in the hole and punched the earth down over the 
pebble. 

“I am very glad.” 

Mrs. Addison continued her quiet monologue. 
It was plain that something was troubling the girl 
at her side; but she knew from past experience 
that, if she were to be of any real help, she must 
wait for her niece to speak out, of her own free 
will. The memory of her own girlhood led Mrs. 
Addison to distrust the value of forced confidences. 

8 


114 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Meanwhile, she would take the opportunity to say 
out her own say to the end. 

“Yes,” she went on; “Wade seems like a dif- 
ferent person, since you came. I am glad, too, 
for I was afraid you would n’t get acquainted with 
him at all, nor have the least idea what he really 
is like. I think your being here has been the best 
thing in the world for him. ” 

“I don’t see why,” Sidney said briefly. All at 
once, now that Mrs. Addison had gone straight 
to the theme of her wished-for talk, a certain 
dumbness had fallen upon the girl, and she 
found it impossible to speak freely, even to 
Auntie Jack. 

Mrs. Addison laughed a little. 

“I don’t, myself,” she confessed. “Wade has 
never had anything to do with young girls until 
now. ” 

“ What about Judith ? ” 

Quite involuntarily Mrs. Addison sighed. All 
unknown to herself, Sidney had touched upon the 
one rough spot in the general smoothness of the 
Addison household. Judith and her half-brother 
never really clashed ; it was merely that they had 
a mutual talent for getting upon each other’s 
nerves. Wade was critical, outspoken and, just 
now, a little sensitive on every point of his men- 
tal anatomy. Judith was dainty and precise and 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


115 


rather too conscientious for the complete comfort 
of her family. She fully intended to do just right 
in every particular; and it rarely occurred to her 
mind that she might have fallen below the level 
of her own intentions. This resulted in a slightly 
superior attitude towards all men, an attitude at 
which Paul openly railed, but which Wade re- 
sented exceedingly. As consequence, for the 
most part Wade Winthrop and Judith Addison 
went their separate ways. And they both were 
their mother’s children, and, seeing the faults of 
each, she yet found it impossible to judge between 
them. She was conscious, however, that when 
they met and parted, it was always Judith who 
bore away with her the sense of superiority. In 
the mere matter of poise, Wade Winthrop was no 
match for his young half-sister. 

However, with all this in her mind, Mrs. 
Addison was able to evade the real spirit of 
Sidney’s question. 

“Judith is so busy with Janet,” she answered; 
“and besides, this summer, she is helping me in 
the care of Ruth.” 

“Yes, I know; but — ” Then the girl cast 
aside her stick, and looked up at her aunt with 
anxious eyes. “ Then you are n’t altogether sorry 
I came ? ” she asked abruptly. 

“ Sorry, child ? Of course not. Why ? ” 


116 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


With a despairing gesture, Sidney plumped her 
chin into her folded hands. 

“Because everything is going wrong, deadly 
wrong, and I can’t seem to help it.” 

Mrs. Addison stared at her niece in sudden 
consternation. 

“ My dear child, what is the matter ? Are you 
homesick ? ” 

“I — ” Sidney caught her breath; “I rather 
guess so. That, or else I have gone idiotic.” 

Mrs. Addison slipped her hand under the 
quivering chin, and, turning the face about, 
looked steadily into the wet gray eyes. 

“Tell me all about it, dear,” she said. 

“That’s just it; there is n’t anything to tell,” 
Sidney burst out. “ It ’s only something wrong 
in the air that makes me feel a misfit, like Bun- 
gay’s best shoes. They pinch, and they squeak ; 
but they don’t fit. That’s what is the matter 
with me.” 

“ But you do fit, dear ; and we love to have you 
with us. And, even if the rest of us did n’t care, 
look at the good times you are having with Wade. ” 

“Yes, that’s the very worst of the trouble,” 
Sidney responded unexpectedly. 

“The trouble ? Wade ? ” Mrs. Addison queried 
blankly. 

“Yes. You asked me here to get acquainted 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


117 


with Judith. I can’t. I think she is a dear, 
and nice and sweet and refined and all the things 
I ought to be and am not. But, if I lived in the 
house with her forty millions of years, I never 
could be chums with her, nor she with me. I 
wish I could ; but I can’t. It ’s not her fault. I 
like her; but we’re born different. You asked 
me to come here to be with her. Instead of that, 
we let each other alone, and she goes off with 
Janet and Ronald, and I sit around with Wade.” 
Sidney drew a long, sobbing breath, as she finished 
her outburst of woful confession. 

Over the top of the girl’s head, Mrs. Addison 
smiled ever so slightly. She had not been alto- 
gether blind, during those past two weeks. 

“And it all makes me feel as if I were here 
under false pretences,” Sidney went on, after a 
little pause. “Of course, I like Judith; but I 
like Wade a great deal better. Still, I was n’t 
invited here to play with Wade.” 

Mrs. Addison interrupted her. 

“No; because he is so much older, and so blue, 
this summer, that it never once occurred to me 
that he would play with you. But, Sidney — ” 

“Well?” 

“Even if there weren’t any Judith, I should be 
glad to have you here just for the sake of the good 
you ’re doing him.” 


118 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


But Sidney suddenly turned wayward. 

“I ’m not even doing him good ; I ’m just man- 
aging him,” she said, wdth scathing emphasis on 
the quoted word. 

In spite of herself, Mrs. Addison laughed at the 
tone. 

“What makes you think so ? ” 

“Paul said so, and Janet.” 

“When?” 

“ One day, when we were on the gallery. ” 

Mrs. Addison’s face cleared. All at once, she 
thought she saw the cause of Sidney’s sudden 
shifting of her loyalty to Wade. This shifting 
had been the real reason of her talk, that morn- 
ing. Now she congratulated herself upon her 
choice of subject. The cloud between the two 
cousins was not merely a fiction of her imagina- 
tion; nevertheless, touched, it could not fail to 
vanish. 

“Well,” she asked tranquilly; “what if you 
are ? ” 

Sidney reiterated the statement which, three 
days before, she had made to Janet and Paul. 

“But I hate managing women,” she said a little 
aggressively. 

“ Does n’t it depend somewhat upon the way 
they do it ? ” her aunt inquired. 

“ Not one bit; not one little bit of a bit. It’s 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


119 


all horrid ; and Paul said — ’’ The words caught 
in her throat. 

“ What did Paul say ? 

“That Wade doesn’t dare say his soul is his 
own, since I tackled him,” Sidney quoted, in hot 
indignation. Then her accent changed and be- 
came appealing. “Do you think that is quite 
fair. Auntie Jack ? ” 

“No; it is as unfair as it was rude.” 

“Don’t tell Paul I told you,” Sidney inter- 
rupted hastily. “We both of us hate telltales, 
and he’d never forgive me. I oughtn’t to have 
said anything; but, truly. Auntie Jack, it — it 
hurt.” 

“ I’m sorry, dear. Paul loves to tease, and 
then he is too young to realize.” 

“He realizes that I am managing Wade, as he 
calls it.” Sidney’s laugh was slightly bitter. 

“Yes; but he doesn’t realize how much Wade 
needed managing,” Mrs. Addison answered 
quickly. “He is so strong, himself, that he 
has n’t the least notion of what it means to have 
to give up and drop out of things. Wade hadn’t, 
until a few weeks ago. When he came up here, 
he was so depressed that I was afraid he would 
never pull up again.” 

Sidney sat with her eyes fixed upon the distant 
river. 


120 


SIDNEY: HEU SUMMER 


“But honestly, Auntie Jack, what is there for 
him to pull up for ? 

“ Everything. The doctors say that everything 
depends upon this summer. If he can be out of 
doors, idle and happy, he will gain fast. There 
is no real trouble yet, nothing developed ; it may 
never come. Only — ” Mrs. Addison’s voice 
broke a little; “only it may come, just as it 
came to his father. But, meanwhile, just as he 
is making the beginning of a brilliant record, he 
must give up all his profession and all of his 
social life.” 

“Poor old Wade! ” the girl commented slowly. 
“No wonder he is blue! ” 

“No wonder!” his mother echoed; “especially 
when it came to him all in an hour. And the 
pitiless part of it is, he is forbidden to be blue. 
And,” she laid her hand on Sidney’s fingers; 
“ and there is where you have come in, my dear 
child. Paul is right, even if he is n’t very 
mannerly. You have been managing Wade and 
managing him well. You ’ve a trick of laughing 
at him and coddling him as none of the rest of 
us can do. If J udith tried it, he would go away 
and shut himself up in his room. With you he 
grumbles ; but he rather likes it, after all. ” 

Sidney shook her head in thoughtful negation. 

“But I don’t want to bully Cousin Wade,” she 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


121 


observed pensively. “He may put up with it 
now, while the novelty lasts; but by and by he 
will flop around and hate me, and then where will 
I be ? ” 

“Very much where you are now.’’ 

Sidney bounced about and faced her aunt 
sharply. 

“You don’t mean he hates me now ? ” she de- 
manded. 

An amused smile played around the corners of 
Mrs. Addison’s mouth. 

“Not in the least. My big boy is very fond of 
you. In fact, Judith came into my room, almost 
in tears, yesterday, because Wade cares so much 
more for you than he does for her. ” 

Sidney settled back again with a disconsolate 
sigh. 

“There you are again! ” she lamented. “ Don’t 
you see for yourself, Auntie Jack, whatever I do, 
I am bound to get into hot water ? ” 

“No; I don’t see.” 

“Why, first Janet and Paul scold me for trying 
to manage Wade, and tell me he does n’t dare say 
his soul is his own; and then Judith gets mad 
because he likes me best,” Sidney enumerated 
patiently. “Now, if Ronald will put in his word, 
and you Xvill put in yours, I shall know about 
where I stand.” 


122 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Not until Wade puts in his,” Mrs. Addison 
suggested. 

Sidney sniffed, with reminiscent disdain of 
Paul and Janet. 

“I suppose he won’t dare,” she said, in brief 
finality. 

There was a short silence. Then Mrs. Addi- 
son spoke again. 

“ Sidney dear, I would rather you did n’t speak 
like that,” she said gently. “1 don’t wonder you 
were hurt ; but it ’s not like you to be bitter. 
It ’s not like you, either, to have turned the cold 
shoulder to Wade, as you ’ve been doing, this last 
day or two. Paul was rude; and yet I think I 
shall not say anything to him about it now. 
There is a little excuse for him. Neither he nor 
Judith know what is really the matter with Wade. 
He asked especially that they should not be told, 
until there was something definite to tell. We 
hope that that time may never come. They think 
he just isn’t quite well, and is needlessly blue 
and cross about it. Until a day or two ago, I 
supposed you thought so, too. Then Wade told 
me about the talk you had together, up at St. 
Ferr^ol. I was surprised ; but I was glad of it. 
Wade is n’t the same man he was when you came. 
His voice shows it, and his walk, and the very 
look in his eyes.” Then Mrs. Addison turned 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


123 


and rested her arm across the girl’s shoulders. 
“Sidney, my dear child, I am very grateful to 
you for managing my big boy. Keep on with the 
managing; keep him happy; make him exercise 
up to the limit of his strength, and you will do 
more than a dozen doctors to bring about his 
perfect cure.” 

The girl’s lip quivered. Mrs. Addison’s words 
were earnest, and her niece accepted them as she 
would have accepted a solemn charge. 

“I’ll try. Auntie Jack,” she said slowly. “I 
am fond of Wade; I ’d do anything in this world 
to help him ; only — ” 

And Mrs. Addison understood. 

“Never mind, dear. Just forget about the 
only, ” 

And Sidney made brave answer, — 

“Auntie Jack, I ’ll try.” 


124 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER NINE 

ITH a bump and a bounce, Paul dived 



vv towards the wide couch in the family 
living-room, kicked the pillows to one side and 
buried his head in Sidney’s lap. 

“1 must insist upon it, Tiddles,” he proclaimed 
in accents which were muffled in the golf jacket 
she was knitting ; “ I must insist upon it that you 
don’t aboozle me.” 

Wade came to the rescue. 

“ Save your cousin, Paul ! ” he protested. 

But Paul retorted placidly, — 

“ Shut up, Wade ! She does n’t belong to you.” 
Then he nuzzled his head deeper into the jacket 
and clasped his hands protectingly above his 
thatch of hair. 

“She won’t belong to anybody before long,” 
Wade objected. “Sidney, don’t let him hurt 
you.” 

But already Sidney had answered to the implied 
challenge. The knitting was cast aside, and the 
largest of the pillows descended, plaster-wise, 
across Paul’s open mouth. Paul wriggled out 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


125 


from beneath the pillow, caught Sidney’s left 
hand, then fell back again before the might of 
her disengaged arm. The next instant, he had 
reversed his position and stretched himself out 
at full length with his moccasins in Sidney’s 
lap, while the girl bent above him, struggling 
and breathless. 

This time, Wade spoke more sharply. 

“Paul, take your feet out of Sidney’s lap.” 

Without stirring otherwise, Paul lifted his head 
and smiled derisively at his half-brother. 

“Whose feet are they, I ’d like to know.” 

“The feet of a hoodlum, apparently. I had 
supposed you were a gentleman.” Wade’s tone 
was dry. 

Paul waved one moccasin on the tip of his toe. 
Then, with a well-aimed thrust of his foot, he 
sent the moccasin flying at Wade’s head. 

“If I ’m a hoodlum, you’re a hoodie-bug,” he 
chanted. “Cousin Sidney, I will not have you 
tickle my toes.” And, with a second bounce, he 
reversed the position of his head and feet. 

Wade spoke even more sharply. 

“Paul!” 

“ Huh ? ” Paul queried placidly. 

“ I wish you would sit up. ” 

“ But I don’t feel able to sit up. Let my hair 
alone. Cousin Tiddles I ” 


126 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Sit up and stop this confounded racket.” 

“Pain in your feelings somewhere, Wade?” 
Paul inquired. 

Unfortunately, just then, it was Wade’s mood 
to take himself absolutely in earnest. He had 
spent the morning with Madame who, for the first 
time, had rubbed his nerves the wrong way. By 
afternoon, he was in a frame of mind which led 
him to retaliate for Sidney’s refusal to allow him 
to go to walk with her, by refusing to go to drive 
with the rest of the young people. An afternoon 
of solitary meditation had proved too much for 
his poise, and Paul’s noisy appropriation of his 
cousin completed the ruin of his temper. Wade 
Winthrop was entirely human ; as a natural result 
of his humanity, he had occasional moments when 
he was entirely cross. And Paul, after the fashion 
of unregenerate fourteen, not only recognized these 
moments, but took a merciless pleasure in pro- 
longing them. Because Wade went through his 
penitence by himself, Paul optimistically assumed 
that he never had any. 

Now Wade’s retort was curt. 

“No; I’ve a pain in my head. I can’t stand 
this noise, Paul. ” 

“Sit it, then.” And a cushion, hurled with 
unerring aim, suddenly flattened Wade’s irate 
head against the back of his chair. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


127 


The cushion fell to the floor and Wade rose. 
A scarlet spot was in either cheek ; otherwise his 
face was so white that Sidney, looking up at him, 
was frightened. Paul, however, eyed him im- 
perturbably. 

“Come down off your dignity, Wadeikins,” he 
advised him cheerily; “and we T1 shake hands 
and make up.’’ 

But Wade was already crossing the floor. At 
the door, he turned and looked back. 

“ I am not aware that I have anything to make 
up,” he said stiffly. “When you choose to apolo- 
gize, I am ready to listen.” The next moment, 
his steps sounded on the stairs. 

Rising on his elbow, Paul stared after him. 

“Jiminy; but isn’t he in a temper!” he ob- 
served dispassionately. 

And Sidney, who had never seen her cousin 
angry until then, was forced to agree with Paul. 
Up to that time, it had not occurred to her that 
Wade was a person to be dreaded. Now she 
began to wonder. She would have wondered still 
more, could she have known that Wade’s bad 
temper was the result of her apparent neglect of 
him, during the past few days. Knowing that, she 
would have modified her swift resolution to keep 
out of his way with scrupulous care. Wade Win- 
throp, angry, was rather a formidable person, so 


128 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


formidable that he completely destroyed, for the 
time being, the effect of the morning’s talk. Al- 
though his anger had been specifically aimed at 
Paul, the girl resented it keenly. She had been 
by no means a silent partner in the merry tussle 
which was one of an apparently endless series. 
In intention, if not in word, the rebuke had been 
for them both; and Sidney, accustomed as she 
was to the rioting of a large family of children, 
told herself that the rebuke was wholly unmerited. 

“ But I never dreamed Wade could get so cross,” 
she said meditatively, the next afternoon. 

Paul was baiting a hook. At her words, he 
looked up, while the worm dangled limply from 
his fingers. 

‘‘Then you’ve got some more dreaming to do, 
before you ’ve covered the subject,” he observed. 

“Evidently. Still, I wish he hadn’t.” 

Paul examined his hook with critical eyes, 
lifted his rod and swung it about his head, pre- 
paratory to a cast. 

“So do I,” he responded, when his fly was once 
more skimming the still surface of the pool at the 
very base of the dam. “ I hate thunder in the air. 
Wade isn’t a sixteenth part of a jiffy in getting 
on his dignity; but it takes him any amount of 
time to come off again.” 

Sidney nodded slowly, as if in comprehension. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


129 


“I know how it is,” she said then. “He gets 
cranky before he realizes it; but he hates to get 
over it too soon, for fear people will see what a 
little thing it was that set him off. I Ve been 
there, myself. But I can’t see how we were to 
blame, Paul.” 

Paul’s arm jerked upwards; a bright-coloured 
trout flashed through the air and fell, flapping, 
almost in the girl’s lap. With a laugh, she 
threw it over to Paul who swiftly ended its dis- 
comfort and tossed it into a little heap of fish 
which lay on the bank back of him. Then Sidney 
picked up her own rod, with a sigh. 

“I really don’t see how we were to blame,” she 
iterated. 

Paul dodged to one side. 

“You ’ll be to blame, if you gouge out my eyes 
with your blasted hook,” he protested. “Oh, for 
the love of — ” 

“Wade,” she supplied, with gloomy prompt- 
ness. 

“Well, Wade, if you wish it. But, for the 
love of anybody, do try to cast like a fisherman. 
There! That’s a little better. You would do 
better yet, if you would only remember that you 
are casting for trout, not slapping at mosquitoes. 
About our being to blame,” he added honestly; 
“ I suppose it was rather muckerish to chuck the 
9 


130 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


pillow at him, when he was three quarters in a 
rage. Didn’t it flatten him out, though ? But I 
would have apologized there and then, if he ’d 
given me time, instead of stamping off to "his 
room. ” 

“He did n’t go to bed, though,” Sidney added. 
“I heard him, after I was in my room, moving 
around. Once I thought I heard him kick some- 
thing over.” 

“ He ’s nothing but a great big kid, when he 
loses his temper,” Paul commented irreverently. 

“ Does he often do it ? ” 

“Yes, especially this summer. Still, I suppose 
the poor old chap is n’t well, and, only this 
morning before she went up to town, mother was 
telling me I must hold on to my temper and not 
mind anything he says.” 

Sidney sighed a little, as the memory of her 
own talk with her aunt swept across her mind. 
Only the day before ! And then her great trouble 
had been the fear lest she was too officious in her 
loyalty to Wade; and now already they seemed 
miles apart. The girl was fond of Wade; she 
hated family dissensions. Nevertheless, she felt 
that she was in honour bound to maintain her 
dignity. Wade had been chilly in the afternoon, 
hot at night; but, in both the temperatures, he 
had contrived to make her feel that she was at 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


131 


fault. Since then, they had met only at breakfast 
and at lunch. Wade had been quiet; but Sidney 
had been silent. Lunch over, Mrs. Addison had 
started for town, and Judith and her embroidery 
had joined Ronald and his magazine on the river 
bank. Ten minutes later, Sidney had tramped out 
of the yard at Paul’s side. Their rods were over 
their shoulders, and neither one of them vouch- 
safed a backward glance at the lonesome figure on 
the upper gallery of the cottage. As they had 
left the table, that noon, Paul had faced his half- 
brother in perfect good faith. 

“I say, old fellow, I ’m sorry I knocked the nose 
off you, last night,” he said affably. 

Wade hesitated. Paul’s face showed his honest 
regret, Paul’s hand was outstretched in token of 
amity. Then Wade saw the laugh in Sidney’s 
eyes, and his hesitation vanished, for, in his 
present mood, he could not grasp the fact that 
the laugh was not at him, but merely at the re- 
markable phrasing of Paul’s apology. 

“I am very glad you are sorry,” he answered 
rather truculently. “Perhaps, next time, you 
will remember to be a little more of a gentle- 
man. ” 

Paul’s eyes blazed, and the colour rushed to 
his face. Then he met his mother’s eye, and he 
turned away without a word, while Wade departed. 


132 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


to pace the upper gallery and strive to maintain a 
proper balance between his indignation, his dig- 
nity and his remorse. Mrs. Addison, meanwhile, 
sighed a little, as she went to her own room in 
search of her hat and gloves. Pity Wade as she 
would and did, she yet could not blind herself to 
the fact that he was a bit of a problem to deal 
with now and then. She came down the stairs 
again to find Sidney sitting disconsolately in the 
deserted dining-room. 

“Why don’t you go fishing with Paul, this 
afternoon, dear ? ” she suggested. “ It is too 
good a day for you to stay here in the house, and 
Paul always loves to have you at his heels. ” 

And so it chanced that now Sidney was stand- 
ing on a rock close in the lee of the dam, making 
futile efforts to cast without imperilling the safety 
of her comrade. 

“Don’t use so much line at first,” Paul advised 
her. “Now swing it around your head a little, 
gently, not as if you were going to spank the 
fishes. There! That’s better. Now keep your 
fly on top of the water. Flies aren’t like sub- 
marine torpedo boats as a general thing. The 
trout come up to them; they don’t go down to 
the trout.” 

“ But mine does. Oh, Paul, I ’ve got him I ” 
Sidney shrieked, her fisherman spirit all afire. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


133 


“ See my line wobble. I know there ’s a fish 
on it.” 

“Well, yank him out, then, and hurry up about 
it, or he U1 be off.” 

Sidney gave a violent jerk, the fish flew through 
the air, bounded off against the bank and then, 
with a flash and a wiggle, was back in the stream 
once more. 

“Oh, great goodness, Tiddles! Why did n^t 
you land him ? ” Paul protested. 

“I did land him, only he didn’t stay landed. 
Maybe he ’ll bite again,” she answered hopefully. 

“Not much. More likely he will go away and 
tell the other fish to keep off. Anyhow, we ’ve 
all we can eat. Come on.” 

“Where?” 

“Up in the woods to roast them.” 

Forgetful of her lost fish, Sidney waved her rod 
in ecstasy. 

“ Paul ! What fun ! A real fire ? ” 

Paul was already unjointing his rod. 

“If we can make it burn. A sham one 
would n’t make much execution on these big 
fellows. Here, catch hold of my rod, Tiddles, 
while I dress them. Three, four, six, and this 
huge fellow. He ’ll count for two.” And, sitting 
down on the rock, he opened his knife and fell to 
work. 


134 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“But we never can eat all those,” Sidney said, 
as she settled herself at his side. “We really 
need another hungry mouth to feed.” 

Paul nodded. He knew whose hungry mouth 
the girl had in mind; he agreed with her un- 
spoken wish that Wade were there with them. 
However, he saw no need of depressing himself 
by wishing for the impossible, and discreetly he 
changed the subject. 

“Mighty disconcerting to be fed the ruins of 
your own grandfather,” he observed, as he tossed 
the head of the largest trout into the pool at his 
feet. “Salome was nothing in comparison.” 
Then he paused, with his knife raised in his 
hand. “Just look at the logs coming over the 
dam, Tiddles! Some day, I’m going to ride 
down on them.” 

“ What ’s the use ? I know you would upset 
yourself,” she remonstrated. 

Paul picked up a second fish. 

“Not much. These men do it, every day, and 
I ’m as smart as they are.” 

“Yes; but you weren’t born to it,” she said 
absently. 

Directly above their heads, the great dam rose 
for a sheer hundred feet in the air. At its nearer 
end, a tiny stream trickled through the planking 
of the sluiceway. Farther across the stream, a 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


135 


thin sheet ol: water poured over the top of the 
dam, carrying in its course the huge yellow logs 
which had come down from miles up in the moun- 
tains, only to find their way into the sawmill at 
the river’s mouth. Above, in the still, deep 
water at the head of the dam, they floated 
smoothly onward, poised themselves for an in- 
stant at the brink as if loath to take the plunge, 
then went leaping over the edge to go thundering 
down upon the rocks beneath, where they lay for 
another instant, rolling as if in pain, before slid- 
ing away down through the rapids beyond. On 
the other side of the river, the hill rose sharply, 
wooded for the most part; but in one spot the 
rock thrust out its naked tilted strata into the 
very edge of the stream. And above the dam 
and across a stretch of level valley, Ste. Anne’s 
Mountain lifted its back skyward, and, just then, 
its back was striped here and there with banners 
of soft white cloud. 

“It is all too lovely to leave,” Sidney said 
regretfully, as she rose to her feet. 

However, she followed her cousin willingly 
enough. This was her first outing alone with 
him, and she was enjoying it all keenly, sharing 
his enthusiasm to the full. She had had good 
times with Wade; nevertheless, although her 
conscience smote her for the admission, she told 


136 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


herself that it was far more interesting to spend 
an afternoon in the real woods than it was to 
loiter through the village, or sit on the bench at 
Madame’s side, smiling a mute assent to a con- 
versation which she was unable to understand. 
Wade treated her like a woman of his own age. 
There was a certain satisfaction in settling back 
again and, for the hour, in becoming a child once 
more in company with Paul. 

The building of the fire and the feeding it with 
scraps of bark occupied her completely for a time. 
Then, as she took the forked stick Paul offered 
her and impaled her trout upon it, she drew a 
sigh of absolute content. Above her head, the 
trees rustled softly; five hundred feet away, the 
noise of the dam sank to a muffled roar; at her 
elbow, the blazing fire scorched her cheeks and 
her trout in unison. Paul, on the opposite side 
of the fire, was stretched out at his ease, one 
hand under his head, the other holding his fish 
to the blaze, and his merry round face reflected 
the contentment in that of his cousin. And, 
meanwhile, the banners of cloud dropped ever 
lower upon Ste. Anne’s Mountain. 

Wade, from the corner of the gallery, watched 
them uneasily. During his long hours with 
Madame, he had accumulated much of the lore of 
the region ; he knew what those long banners of 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


137 


cloud portended. Judith had gone home with 
Janet; Bungay and Ruth were in the barn, and 
Mrs. Addison would not be at home until even- 
ing. As for Paul, he was a boy and not a fit sub- 
ject for worry; but Wade was manifestly uneasy, 
as he thought of Sidney. From the few words 
which had floated back to him as they left the 
house, he had learned that she and Paul were 
bound for the dam. Once only had he walked so 
far; but that once had impressed upon his mind 
the long stretches of open road. And Sidney was, 
as usual, bareheaded, and her linen frock was no 
fit protection for a girl caught out in one of the 
fierce mountain storms. Would those crazy chil- 
dren never see the coming shower and turn their 
faces towards home ! 

Impatiently he went to the other corner of the 
gallery, stared up at the mountain, now almost 
shut out from view ; then he tramped back again 
to his former post whence he could see far up the 
road to the beginning of the trail leading to the 
dam. No one was in sight. Already the clouds 
were scurrying low over the wind-swept sky and, 
across the field, the river was chattering angrily 
at the stones in its bed. He went down to the 
kitchen in search of the maids; but the maids 
were celebrating the absence of their mistress by 
taking an afternoon out. And Sidney had not 


138 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


looked well, at noon. He had scarcely spoken to 
her, to be sure ; but, from over his plate, he had 
noticed her downcast face. And now, if he had 
only treated her a bit more cordially, she probably 
would have been there in the gallery with him, 
not tramping the woods with his careless young 
brother. 

Wade was wholly unreasonable and lacking in 
logic. However, he was far from well; he had 
spent a sleepless night, and disease and insomnia 
can warp the most logical conscience. By way of 
undoing an imaginary sin, he determined upon an 
actual one. 

In his haste, Sidney’s room, on the floor above, 
seemed too far away, and he fell to rummaging his 
mother’s closet, in search of a raincoat and a pair 
of overshoes. In the course of his rummaging, he 
upset the box containing her best hat, and shook 
down from its hooks her brand-new tailor frock ; 
but he left them lying on the floor. Time enough 
to pick them up again, when Sidney was safely 
under cover. Then, with the coat over his arm and 
the shoes in his pocket, he seized the nearest um- 
brella, pulled his cap over his eyes and, regard- 
less of the orders of a trio of specialists, he started 
out into the very teeth of the coming storm. 

Just then, Sidney raised her head from above 
the final trout. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


139 


“See how dark it is getting!” she said. “Do 
you suppose it is going to rain ? ” 

Paul crammed the last morsel into his mouth 
and ran out to reconnoitre. Then he ran back 
again. 

“We’re in for a heavy shower, Tiddles. It 
will be on us inside of five minutes. Will you go 
up to the shack by the dam, or will you make a 
rush for home ? ” 

Sidney sprang to her feet with the alertness 
which never failed to win her cousin’s admiration. 

“Home,” she said briefly. “There is no know- 
ing how long we ’d have to wait, and the shack 
will be full of men and fuller of tobacco. Come. ” 
And she started running lightly down the path. 

For the first five minutes, the path led through 
the forest, and the heavy trees shut out all sight 
of the threatening shower. Then, just as the two 
cousins came out to the open road, the storm 
swept down upon them, twisting the treetops into 
mere wisps of leaves and driving the rain in long, 
leaden lines across the lead-coloured air. 

“ Can you stand it, Tids ? ” Paul gasped, as he 
ran at her side. 

She shook her rain-lashed hair back from her 
face. 

“ I must, ” she answered pluckily ; “ therefore I 
can. But is n’t it a wet rain ? I am soaked to 


140 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


the very inside lining of my skin.” But there was 
no minor cadence to her voice, and she still ran 
on as lightly as if her linen skirt were not cling- 
ing fast to her knees and to the tops of her shoes 
where the water was squelching between her toes. 

Without slackening his pace, Paul rolled down 
the sleeves of his flannel shirt and turned up the 
collar. 

“I wish you had this, Tiddles,” he panted. 
“It isn’t so beastly as your clothes. Oh, by 
Jove!” And he whirled about sharply and 
clasped his arms above his head, to cut off at 
least a part of the force of the hail. 

It came upon them, full in their faces, hard and 
stinging as metal bullets and infinitely more cold. 
It cut their faces and their hands. When they 
bowed their heads to meet it, it rolled down 
across the napes of their necks and slid out of 
sight beneath their clothing. It lodged in their 
hair and in the tops of their shoes. And, mean- 
while, the trees beside them were still twisting 
and writhing in the fury of the gale. It was out 
of the question now to run. They could only plod 
slowly forward, turning now and then to catch 
their breath, then bravely facing forward once 
more. And home seemed farther away than it 
had done at the start. 

“ Are you good for it, Tiddles ? ” Paul asked 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


141 


soberly, as they stood still for an instant with 
their backs to the wind. 

Her teeth were chattering ; but her answer was 
undaunted. 

“Of course I am. I shall take my cold bath 
like an Englishman and pretend that I love it. 
Anyway, it won’t be so bad, when we round the 
turn, for we shall get the wind at our backs. Are 
you ready ? ” 

She gathered together all her courage and, with 
a laugh that the gale blew back against her shut 
teeth, she faced about and went running forward 
at full speed, determined now to reach the turn 
at any cost. 

She did reach it and, with Paul close behind 
her, she rounded the sharp angle in the road 
and came into a few feet of comparative shelter. 
Then, raising her head, she gave a swift excla- 
mation of surprise. Struggling towards her, the 
coat over his arm blown backward into a narrow 
banner, his umbrella bent and his cap awry, Wade 
faced her, breathless and rather pale. 

“ Wade Winthrop, are you insane ? ” she de- 
manded sharply, for she was swift to realize the 
risk he had run. 

Panting, he halted in the shelter by her side. 

“No,” he said quietly; “only a little tired and 
a good deal worried about you.” 


142 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


She started to answer. Then silently she took 
the overshoes and dragged them on over her 
sodden shoes, too much alarmed about her cousin 
to heed the incongruity of the action. That done, 
she looked up into his face. 

“Wade, how could you ? ’’ was all she said. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


143 


CHAPTER TEN 

B ungay, with Jumbo’s brief tail clasped in 
one chubby red fist, assisted himself up the 
post-office steps by means of his other hand. On 
the gallery outside the door, he halted, laid down 
Jumbo and started on a tour of discovery through 
his brace of pockets. His face, meanwhile, ex- 
pressed every shade of anxiety, doubt, alarm, 
reassurance and final pleasure. That last shade 
accompanied the drawing forth of two Canadian 
coppers, one from each pocket where they had 
been placed in literal obedience to Paul’s mock- 
ing suggestion that he would tip over, if he carried 
such a weight all on one side. Then, coppers in 
hand, he picked up J umbo once more and elevated 
his small voice. 

“Mr. Postmaster.” 

There was no reply, and Bungay spoke again. 
This time, it seemed that his own father in New 
York might have heard him. 

The screen door guarding the entrance to 
Madame’s spinning-room opened slightly, and the 
postmaster put out his venerable white head. 


144 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Did some one call ? he asked. 

Deliberately Bungay turned himself about and 
went stubbing down the steps. 

“I called,” he replied, when he and the post- 
master stood face to face. “ Here ’s two cents, 
and I’d like a letter, please.” 

“ What name ? ” 

Bungay eyed him askance, clutching the cop- 
pers, the while, as if he suspected the postmaster 
of sinister and fraudulent practices. 

“ My name is Maurice Bungay Dalhousie Stayre,” 
he said severely; “but I don’t see what for you 
want to know.” 

“Yes, yes. But there are no letters for Mrs. 
Stayre. ” 

“ My mamma does n’t get her letters here ; she 
gets ’em in New York. It ’s me that wants it.” 

“I know; but there aren’t any letters for you, 
either, ” the postmaster explained patiently. 

“ Why not ? ” Bungay queried. 

“Because nobody has written any.” 

“When will there be some ? ” 

“When the mail comes in, to-night, perhaps.” 

“All right. Save one for me, and here ’s your 
two cents. ” 

“Did you wish a stamp, also?” the postmaster 
asked, somewhat at a loss to account for the 
pennies. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


145 


“No; I don’t want a stamp. I want a letter. 
The pennies are to pay for it.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. But you do not need to 
pay for the letter. The person must pay it who 
writes to you,” the old man explained again. 

“ But I don’t want it writed to me. ” 

“ Then to whom should it he written ? ” 

“ To my cousin. ” 

“What cousin?” 

“ The sick-abed one. ” 

The old postmaster frowned thoughtfully. 
“Truly, you are a remarkable child,” he ob- 
served, half to himself. 

“I ain’t, too; I ’m Bungay Stayre,” Bungay con- 
tradicted promptly. 

“ And your cousin ? ” 

Bungay waved his hand, Jumbo and all, towards 
the farther end of the village. 

“ He ’s down there, sick-abed, and I thought 
he ’d feel better, maybe, if 1 got him a letter. 
My papa always feels better when he gets a letter, 
only when they ’re big, thick ones with printing 
on the corner and a little slip of paper stuck in 
with all the big sheets. Then he gets mad and 
throws them,” he said alertly. 

However, the postmaster was not interested in 
family details, and he brought Bungay back to the 
main issue. 


10 


146 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“What is your cousin’s name ? ” he asked. 

“Wade Winthrop.” 

“ Oh, is it he ? He comes often here to 
see my wife. I know him well. Is he your 
cousin ? ” 

“Yes, he is. And now won’t you sell me a 
letter for him ? ” 

The old man laid his hand on Bungay’s shoul- 
der. 

“I will give you one gladly,” he said; “but 
you must wait till it comes.” 

“But he ’s awful sick-abed,” Bungay persisted. 

“ That is sad. How long since he was seized ? ” 

Bungay misunderstood the final word. 

“He sneezed himself, last night,” he answered 
promptly ; “ and he ’s been sneezing himself, all 
day to-day. I heard him, right up through the 
floor into Sidney’s room. Sidney is my sister. 
She sneezed herself, too, only she didn’t sneeze 
herself sick-abed.” 

“Yes, yes. Your cousin has a cold ? ” 

“Yes, and his head aches itself, and his back 
aches itself, and Ruth says he ’s very cross,” 
Bungay continued, with unabated cheerfulness. 
“Everybody is cross at our house, to-day, except 
just me. Judith ’s cross, and Paul ’s cross, and 
Sidney ’s cross, and Ruth ’s the crossest of them 
all. See where she scratched me on my nose.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


147 


And Bungay turned that snubby member upward 
for the postmaster’s inspection. 

The old man smiled down at him benignly. 

“ That is bad, my son ; but what had you said, 
to make her wish to scratch you ? ” 

“I didn’t say a thing.” 

“ Or do ? ” the postmaster added, for he read 
guilt in Bungay’s countenance. 

Bungay hesitated. Then, of a sudden, he deter- 
mined to make a clean breast of the matter. 

‘‘ This, ” he responded briefly, and, laying J umbo 
carefully at his feet, he hooked his little Angers 
into the outer corners of his eyes, his thumbs into 
the outer corners of his lips, and waggled his 
tongue into the benign old face above him. 

The transformation was so sudden, the whole 
effect so unlike anything the old man had seen 
before, that he started backwards and devoutly 
crossed himself. 

“ Saint Anne protect us ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ Small wonder that she scratched you, my son. ” 

Bungay shook his head, while he rolled up his 
eyes until only the whites were visible. 

“Saint Anne didn’t scratch me; ’twas Ruth,” 
he explained, when the demonstration was ended. 
“My brother Percy showed me how to do that. 
If you want, some day, I ’ll teach it to you. Now 
won’t you give me a letter ? ” 


148 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“To-night, perhaps.’’ 

Bungay shook his head again, this time in grave 
rebuke. 

“I think you ’re very unercommodating,” he ob- 
served. “ The next time you sneeze yourself sick- 
abed, I shall tell Wade how you behaved, and 
then maybe he won’t come and see your wife some 
more.” Then, chin in air and Jumbo clutched in 
his arms like a breastplate, Bungay turned on his 
heel. 

At the garden gate, however, he paused. 

“ Perhaps, if you really have n’t any letters, you 
could send my cousin some flowers,” he suggested. 

The old man’s face lighted. With bent brows, 
the acknowledged autocrat and aristocrat of the 
village had been seeking to adjust himself to the 
displeasure of a small boy and, meanwhile, thank- 
ing the providence which had ordained, some sixty 
years ago, that his own small boys should be bid- 
dable little Frenchmen, not Americans like this 
precocious babe who sought to terrorize him with 
words and with distortions of the countenance. 
Now he rallied and regained some measure of his 
cheerfulness at the thought of doing a good turn 
to some one in need. 

“Yes, yes. I will call my wife^ She will cut 
them for you, and you may take them to him 
with our best wishes.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


149 


He stepped inside the doorway to speak to 
Madame, and she followed him out to the gar- 
den, armed, like a fate, with a vast pair of shears. 
Bungay and J umbo formed the tail of the proces- 
sion, moving up and down on the heels of Madame, 
as she wandered to and fro amid the tangle of 
blossoms, snipping and slashing as she went. 
Bungay watched the growing bunch of gaudy 
flowers. Then he pointed to a stalk of tall lilies 
beside the central shrine. 

“I ’d like that, please,” he said calmly. 

Madame shook her head. 

“It is the only one.” 

“Huh?” 

The old postmaster translated. 

“ I ’ve got some money. Besides, he ’s awful 
sick-abed. I should n’t wonder if he did n’t get up 
for a month, and he could n’t have any breakfast, 
only chicken broth, ” Bungay explained severely. 

The old man looked anxious. He, too, like his 
wife, was aware that all was not well with Wade 
Winthrop. 

“ Has he had a doctor ? ” 

“No; Auntie Jack doctored him out of a book, 
and then he ate some pills.” 

“And he is very ill ? ” 

“Awful,” Bungay responded with conviction. 
“ That ’s what makes him so cross, I guess. ” 


150 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Madame asked a few brief questions, nodded in 
answer to her husband’s replies, then, stretching 
out her arm, decapitated her stalk of lilies, the 
pride and glory of her entire garden. 

Give them to Monsieur with our love, and say 
that Madame weeps for his trouble,” she said in 
French, and again her husband translated. 

Bungay eyed her askance. 

“No; you aren’t weeping, too. Your nose 
is n’t red and your eyes is n’t wet any. I ’m 
sorry you feel bad, and here ’s your pennies. No 
matter now about the letter. This will do most 
as well, I guess.” And Bungay, deftly dropping 
his two coppers into Madame’s hand, outstretched 
in farewell, shouldered Jumbo and the flowers 
and started for home, as fast as his sturdy legs 
would carry him. 

Bungay had spoken the literal truth. Wade 
was ill, “awful ill.” He had reached home, the 
afternoon before, chilled to the marrow of his 
bones, exhausted to a state of collapse. Even 
Paul admitted that he himself was worn out by 
the struggle with the storm. Wade wasted no 
strength in admission. He merely went away to 
his own room. Sidney looked after him anxiously, 
and wished with all her might that her aunt were 
at home, or even Judith. A little later, in bath 
robe and raincoat, she braved the outer staircase 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


151 


and went to Wade’s door with a glass of hot 
lemonade and a word of inquiry. His answering 
voice through the doorcrack allayed the worst of 
her fears. Nevertheless, when he finally came 
down to dinner, she was thoroughly alarmed at 
his hoarseness and at the feverish glitter of his 
eyes. By morning, Wade was in the early stages 
of a violent attack of bronchitis. 

For the next four days, a shadow hung over the 
house, and its inmates went about softly and spoke 
only in hushed voices. Judith spent much of the 
time with the Leslies, for Freda Leslie had devel- 
oped extraordinary gifts in keeping Bungay and 
Ruth quiet and content, and Judith felt it wise to 
remain within hearing of any possible mutiny on 
their part. Mrs. Addison was wholly devoted to 
her son, and Sidney and Paul spent endless hours 
sitting on the gallery outside his windows, ready 
to be of use in case of need. They talked less 
than they read, and they read, on an average, 
half a page an hour. For the time being, their 
whole minds were centered in Wade. 

“Honestly, I never supposed I cared so much 
for the old boy,” Paul said soberly, at the end of 
the second evening. “ I ’ll tell you what, Tiddles, 
it would be just beastly, if anything should happen 
to take Wade off.” 

However, on the sixth morning, Wade appeared 


152 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


on the upper gallery, coughing still and the ghost 
of his former self; but obviously on the road to 
recovery, and wholly rebellious at Sidney’s efforts 
to tuck him up in a heavy rug. 

“I’m no walking hospital now, Sidney,” he 
objected. “In fact, I am none too sure that I 
deserved any too much sympathy from the start. 
I did an idiotic thing, and had my come-uppance. 
Now it is for me to take my medicine like a man.” 

“ Even if it ’s nothing but sugar pills ? ” she 
queried, with a laugh which sought to give the lie 
to the anxious light in her eyes. 

“Sugar pills are n’t so bad,” he responded, with 
an echo of her laugh. “I find them rather re- 
assuring, Tiddles. Mother always turns allo- 
pathic, when we are really ill.” 

“But you were really ill, this time, Wade.” 

“Mayhap. Anyway, it is over now, except 
this small coughlet that tickles my ribs now and 
then. You ’ve combed your hair, ma’am, since 
I beheld you last.” 

“Torn it, you’d better say, over you,” she re- 
torted, as she balanced herself on the rail at his 
side. 

He looked up at her keenly. 

“Hid you honestly care so much, Tiddles ? ” 

Her colour came, though she tried to laugh 
again. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


158 


‘‘Care! When I was plucking out mj hair in 
token of my anxiety ! ” Then she grew grave. 
“Yes, Wade, I did care,’’ she added. 

But her gravity dispelled his own. 

“Glad of it,” he replied coolly, as he settled 
back again in his steamer chair. “ It is good for 
you to get on your nerves occasionally. And then, 
for a day or two, it had seemed as if we were pull- 
ing different ways. You ’ve anchored yourself to 
a block, this summer, Sidney ; and now I decline 
to let you cut the cable. ” 

Her chin on her hands, she studied him silently 
and long. His short, sharp illness had pulled 
him down to a degree that shocked her, but his 
accent was alert, the lines of his face supremely 
content. Furthermore, as he lay stretched out 
there in the noon sunshine, she told herself that, 
enforced idler that he was, nevertheless Wade 
Winthrop was very much a man. At length, she 
roused herself and answered his last words. 

“When the cable is cut, Wade, the knife will 
be in your hands.” 

“It will fray itself out into a good old age, 
then,” he answered contentedly. “And now, 
Tiddles, be a good soul and tell me all the news.” 
“But I don’t know any,” 

“ Whom have you seen ? ” 

“Not a soul.” 


154 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Where have you been ? ’’ 

She laughed. 

“Here, mostly.” 

“Silly child! Did you think I would run 
away ? ” 

“I knew you couldn’t, if you tried,” she an- 
swered saucily. “A man that’s rolled up in a 
blanket and eats nothing but broth and sugar pills 
isn’t going to go very far.” 

“ Where are the others ? ” 

“ Your mother is asleep. Paul is — ” 

“ Fishing, ” he interpolated gravely. “ I might 
have known. ” 

“Well, it’s for your dinner,” she flashed 
sharply. “Paul heard you say you ’d like a good 
fat trout, and he swallowed his breakfast whole 
and rushed off. He has n’t budged from the house 
before, since you were ill. ” 

Turning, Wade stared up at his cousin keenly. 

“Sidney, I did n’t know — Was I as ill as all 
that ? ” he asked. 

She bit her lip. 

“Yes, Wade, you were.” 

“Hm! Sorry I scared you, all for nothing,” he 
answered. “You might have known I ’d come out 
all right in the end. Next time, don’t waste your 
worry. Where is Judith ? ” 

“Over at the Leslies’.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


166 


“ Did she worry, too ? ” her half-brother queried 
flippantly. 

“Of course. We all did. Judith is so re- 
served, though, that you can never tell half she 
thinks,’’ Sidney replied, in swift defence of her 
absent cousin. 

“Sure. That’s where she scores. Did she 
mingle her tears with yours and Paul’s on the 
gallery floor ? ” Wade persisted, with the bitter 
accent which never failed to antagonize his 
cousin. 

“No,” she answered a little shortly. “She 
was more practical. She took the children over 
to the Leslies’, and kept them there for hours at 
a time.” 

“Hard lines on the Leslies! Was Ronald 
there, too ? ” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I know Miss 
Leslie was there, though, for Bungay came home, 
loud in her praise.” 

“Freda Leslie?” 

“Yes. She must have been devoted to them. 
That ’s what I call practical mission work,” Sidney 
said, as she deftly tucked in the loosened corner 
of the rug. “I like Miss Freda, anywaj.” 

“So do I, when I can live up to her.” 

“ She ’s not so bad.” 

“So good, you mean,” Wade corrected her Ian- 


166 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


guidly. “Miss Leslie’s one fault is that she has 
too many points of perfection. Now that is a 
fault you’ll never get, Tiddles.” 

“You might have left that for me to say,” she 
protested. “But I am forgetting one item of 
news. ” 

“And that?” 

“And that is that the man Miss Leslie is en- 
gaged to, is coming here, next Tuesday.” 

“Who is he?” 

Sidney wrinkled her brows, while she searched 
the corners of her memory. 

“Do you know, I really believe I have never 
heard his name,” she said slowly. “He is a Har- 
vard man, and does something at Yale, unless it 
is the other way about. ” 

“An American ? ” 

“ I suppose so. ” 

Wade heaved a deep sigh. 

“ Poor soul ! ” he observed somewhat enigmati- 
cally. 

But Sidney was allowed no chance for a reply. 
A step on the walk beneath made her turn and 
look down over the rail. 

“Wade Winthrop, here comes Madame!” she 
said, in a whisper which rose with her increasing 
astonishment. 

Wade sat up eagerly. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


157 


“Good old Madame! ” 

“ But do you feel able to see her ? ” the girl 
queried a little anxiously. 

“Of course. Bring her up here, if you don’t 
mind. Madame is a tonic to my soul and a joy 
to my eyes. Hurry up, Sidney, and don’t keep 
her waiting, for I suspect she ’s not used to mak- 
ing many calls.” 

Madame appeared in a moment, following close 
on the heels of Sidney. As Wade had surmised, 
making calls was a rare function in her experi- 
ence, and she had prepared for the occasion by 
exchanging her brown calico sack for a fitted 
bodice of black brocaded velvet which she wore 
above her same short homespun skirt. The in- 
evitable black knitted hood still surrounded her 
wrinkled face ; but it was surmounted with a straw 
sailor hat, rusty black like the bodice and worn 
rakishly askew. Wade never cared for these 
details, however. He only saw Madame’s smile 
and the kindly light in her eyes, as she came 
quickly forward and, with an abrupt gesture, 
prevented his getting on his feet to greet her. 

“ It will be time for the chivalry later on, my 
son,” she said, as she took his hand. “Just now, 
it is your duty and our pleasure that you take the 
best possible care of yourself. ” 

Sidney brought a chair for Madame, assured 


168 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


herself that both Wade and his guest were 
comfortable, and then stole away so quietly 
that neither one of them noted her absence 
until Wade found his sudden question to her 
falling upon the empty air. Then he smiled 
up at Madame. 

“Madame spoke truly,’’ he said. “My young 
cousin carries the sunshine with her; in her 
absence, I miss the glow.” 

Madame rose. 

“And I also spoke truly, my son, when I told 
you to follow the sunshine. Already even now 
you are the better for it. Your little cousin is 
a good comrade for you ; you are happy with her, 
and you no longer look on life with the dreary 
eyes. Nevertheless, remember this. If the clouds 
do come, and come they must, there is always the 
chair beside the loom and Madame’s welcome 
waiting to greet you. But she has missed you 
sadly, these last days.. My good man and I have 
learned to watch for your visits, and we sorrowed 
for your illness.” Then she smiled broadly down 
into his face. “But the sun has followed you, 
even in your illness ; and it will follow you still, 
in the new health which is sure to come to you in 
the end.” 

Wade smiled back at her; but there was a wish- 
ful light in his eyes, as he asked, — 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


159 


“ Are you a prophet, Madame ? ’’ 

Again she nodded. 

“ They say that I am, my son. And the best of 
it all is, 1 prophesy only good things.” 

Then she went away and left him alone. 


160 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 

O H, Judith!” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Come, we ’re ready. ” 

“Go on, then.” 

“But we ’re waiting for you.” 

“I’m not coming.” 

“ Oh, why not ? ” It was J anet who spoke, and 
her voice was protesting. 

“ Because I think I ’d better not. Don’t tease, 
Janet, for really it’s no use.” 

Janet flushed at the accent of finality in Judith’s 
tone, just such a tone as she might have used to 
Ruth or to Bungay. 

Ronald took his turn. 

“What ’s the matter, Judith ? ” 

“Nothing.” 

“ It ’s not so very warm. ” 

“ I know that. ” 

“ And it ’s not so very far. ” 

“ I know that. ” 

Then Paul put in his contribution, imperti- 
nently, after the fashion of young brothers. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


161 


“And it’s an open road, Judy. You can walk 
there and back without getting your stockings 
dusty.” 

“Paul! Please don’t forget you are a gentle- 
man,” Judith said, in the same tone she had used 
to Janet; and, in his turn, Paul subsided. 

“Do you suppose she isn’t feeling well?” 
Ronald asked, as he started down the road at 
Sidney’s side. 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” the girl answered 
doubtfully. “ She seemed all right at lunch ; but 
Judith is so quiet you can’t always tell.” 

“Most likely she has an attack of conscience,” 
Paul suggested over his shoulder. “ She gets one, 
now and then. You can generally tell when it ’s 
coming, by the way she slaps her hair tight down 
over her ears.” 

“It is very unbecoming, too,” Janet added. 
“Does it usually last long, Paul?” 

“Depends on circumstances. She hasn’t had 
one now for a good while, so this may be a bad 
attack. ” 

“ How does it take her ? ” Ronald queried, with 
a flippancy which Sidney vaguely resented. In 
the intervals of her absorption in Wade, she had 
been accustomed to regard the long Canadian as 
being exclusively the comrade of J udith. 

“In her voice mostly,” Paul responded. “It 
11 


162 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


gets meek and sort of sorrowful. Sometimes her 
temper gets it, too, and things rub her the wrong 
way. Generally, though, she ’s just plain meek, 
and takes no end of pains to do things that nobody 
cares two pins about, after she ’s done them. 
Then she flops down on her bed, with her feet in 
the pillows, and cries.” 

“Take warning, Janet,” Ronald advised his 
young sister, while he brought her to a standstill 
by laying a detaining hand upon her pigtail; 
“don’t on any account whatsoever develop the 
habit of having a conscience.” 

With a jerk, she pulled her hair away, leaving 
only the ribbon in his fingers. 

“I have one now, brother,” she said saucily. 
“It is very busy, too, for it always troubles me 
when you do the wrong thing.” 

But Sidney interposed. For some reason, she 
always felt moved to defend Judith, perhaps be- 
cause at heart she realized her own lack of sym- 
pathy with her cousin and sought to cover it from 
the eyes of others. To her mind, there was a 
certain disgrace in the fact that, brought together 
for the express purpose of becoming intimate, two 
girl cousins of exactly the same age and of ap- 
proximately the same training should go their own 
ways in mutual disregard. The fact remained, 
however, that, since the very first night of their 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


163 


meeting, the two girls had rarely sought each 
other’s society. They were enemies in no sense ; 
it was merely that they were not friends. 

“You’re not a bit fair to Judith,” she said 
now. “ It is only that we none of us understand 
her. Judith always means to do just the very 
right thing.” 

Paul sighed ostentatiously. 

“ That ’s just the nubbin of the trouble, Tiddles. 
She not only means mortally well; but she is 
mortally afraid that the rest of us won’t know 
how much trouble it is for her to carry out her 
good intentions.” 

Ronald, his cap over his nose and his hands in 
his pockets, pondered aloud. 

“ When all ’s said and done, you ’ve brought it 
around to a charge of being well-meaning,” he 
observed ; “ and for my part, I ’d rather be accused 
of stealing hens. It may not be so honest; but 
it’s a long ways less disagreeable.” 

Sidney faced him hotly. 

“You don’t mean that Judith is disagreeable ? ” 

“No, Mamzelle Peekaboo; I do not. At her 
best, Judith Addison is one of the most charming 
girls I have ever known. There, does that satisfy 
you ? ” he queried blandly, as he looked down 
into her flushed face, congratulating himself, the 
while, upon the rhetorical twist which had allowed 


164 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


him to include at least one other girl in his 
superlative. 

Later on in the afternoon, he congratulated 
himself yet again, and upon the score of the good 
time he was having. From the hour of their 
meeting, he had admired Sidney exceedingly. 
Her straightforward ways, unconscious as the 
ways of a healthy bo}’, had been wholly new to 
him; her piquant face with its steady gray eyes 
and its merry mouth had attracted him; he had 
delighted in her fun, in her unvarying good tem- 
per and even, now and then, in her outspoken 
disapproval which was tempestuous, but rarely 
unjust. Nevertheless, much as he admired her, 
he had seen surprisingly little of her. When the 
young people were all together, it was Judith who 
had monopolized him completely. He had yielded 
to her monopoly with a certain satisfaction in 
being singled out by this pretty, dainty girl who 
obviously wished to have about her nothing but 
what she considered the very best. However, in 
the midst of her placid conversation, he was ac- 
customed now and then to cast longing, furtive 
glances towards the hilarious group which cen- 
tered in Sidney Stayre. He would have liked it 
better if Judith had elected to join that group; but 
neither chivalry nor common courtesy would per- 
mit his suggesting to her that he was slightly 



“ J^OR the past week the steamer 
chair had been the focal point 
of the young people,^'" Page 165. 




ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


165 


bored by her talk. Half a dozen times in the 
past three weeks, he had strolled over and settled 
himself beside Wade’s scarlet hammock, and 
Wade, who possessed infinite leisure to think 
things over, promptly discovered that Ronald’s 
desire for his society developed at the hours when 
Sidney was settled on the other side of the ham- 
mock, and that the talk flowed just as smoothly, 
whether he himself spoke, or whether he kept 
still. 

Wade, meanwhile, had come out on the gallery 
to find Judith seated, with her sewing in her 
hands, close beside his steamer chair. For the 
past week, the steamer chair had been the focal 
point of the young people. Sidney had assumed 
as her own the seat beside it, Ronald had occu- 
pied the rail and Paul had sprawled on a pile 
of cushions on the floor at their feet. The oth- 
ers went and came, to be sure ; but Sidney stuck 
to her post, shirking all other responsibilities, 
while she gossiped with her cousin of all things, 
past, present and yet to be. Wade appreciated it 
vaguely, enjoyed it exceedingly and accepted it 
quite as a matter of course, until a chance word 
from his mother, that morning, brought to him 
a swift realization that his young cousin was 
giving up all things else, for the sake of lighten- 
ing the tedium of his convalescence. Then he 


166 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


had asserted himself promptly, with the result 
that an afternoon in the woods was adopted, as 
the plan best executed on a two-hour notice. 
Sidney had gone with the others, merely to keep 
the peace. She had enjoyed Wade’s society 
thoroughly, during these last days; but his will 
was strong, his arguments specious. She had 
yielded to them both because she had discovered 
that, for some reason, Wade’s heart was set upon 
being left alone. 

And Wade, invisible behind the angle of his 
deep casement, had watched them go. As he 
watched them and by way of cheering his own 
prospective loneliness, he had whistled a few bars 
of Chopin’s Funeral March. He had choked over 
his own music, however, and, leaving the window, 
he had taken himself to the gallery. 

“Well, Judith, how came you here ? ” he asked, 
in some surprise. 

She looked up at him gravely. 

“I thought it would be rather lonely for you, 
this afternoon, so I told the others I wouldn’t 
go.” 

Wade looked a trifle annoyed. It was one thing 
to accept the off-hand, irresponsible attentions of 
Sidney; it was quite another matter to be the 
recipient of his sister’s benevolent care. All at 
once, he felt himself relegated to the position of 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


167 


invalid spoil-sport, and the consciousness ren- 
dered him a trifle testy. Like all men, he liked 
coddling only so long as the coddling appeared to 
be the result of accident rather than of design. 

“Too bad you missed it,” he said curtly. 
“They looked as if they were off for a good 
time.” 

She drew one long, bright strand out from the 
snarl of silk in her lap and threaded it into her 
needle, while Wade idly watched her pretty white 
hands and contrasted them with the lithe brown 
ones whose every motion had become so familiar 
to him. 

“There are more good times coming,” she said 
then, and her accent irresistibly reminded Wade 
of a phrase from a copy-book. 

“Doubtless,” he responded. “Still, it is well 
to take them as they come.” 

Judith smiled at her work. Wade had seen 
that smile before. It showed her dimples and, as 
a rule, it was directed at Ronald Leslie. Wade 
felt that he ought to be grateful that it was now 
turned upon him; but his gratitude, like his sense 
of humour, had suddenly failed him. He was 
only conscious of an utter irritation, as Judith 
said serenely, — 

“ That depends. ” 

“ Depends on what ? Do speak up and finish 


168 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


your sentences, Judith. Your riddles are too 
much for my weak brain.” 

J udith rebuked him gently. 

“Now, Wade, please don’t be so snappish, j 
thought we could have such a pleasant afternoon 
together. ” 

Wade raised his brows. 

“Thank you, Judith; you are very good. Is 
there any especial form of entertainment that I 
can offer ? ” 

She smiled again. Really, she was a very 
pretty girl, with her fluffy golden head rising 
above her pale blue linen frock. 

“That is for you to say,” she responded gra- 
ciously. “This afternoon is for you, Wade.” 

Wade eyed her, half in amusement, half in 
despair. 

“Oh, thunder I Don’t be so strenuous, Judith,” 
he said. 

Her voice showed that he had injured her feel- 
ings. 

“I ’m not strenuous, Wade. It is just that you 
are so hard to suit. I thought you ’d be glad to 
have me give up going, this afternoon, and stay 
at home with you.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“ But you like to have Sidney here. ” 

“ She likes to be here. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


169 


“ So should 1 like to be here, if you would only 
be as polite to me as you are to Sidney. One 
would think you would prefer your sister to your 
cousin.’^ Then, with an obvious effort, she dis- 
missed the minor key from her voice and became 
sprightly. “Now what shall we do to amuse our- 
selves ? ’’ she asked, with precisely the intonation 
she would have used to Kuth. 

Wade’s answer was concise. 

“Oh, go hang! ” he said. 

Judith undertook to remonstrate with him. 

“Don’t be cross to me, dear. I know it is hard 
to be shut up here by yourself; but you will be 
better soon.” 

Wade grunted. 

“Let ’s hope so.” 

Judith rested her hand on his sleeve. It was 
her right hand, and it wore a tiny diamond. 
Wade noticed it for the first time, and it roused 
in him a certain resentment, for it was the ring 
which his own father had given to his child wife 
on the day when they plighted their troth. There 
was no real reason that Judith should not have 
worn the ring; nevertheless, Wade would have 
preferred it otherwise. Judith was in the like- 
ness of Mr. Addison, and Wade’s own father was 
still the hero of his son whom he had left an 
orphan at the age of seven. Wade gave his loy- 


170 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


alty but rarely. Given, it was enduring. But 
Judith’s answer was in his ears, gracious and 
empty of meaning. 

“We all hope so, Wade. We all are so sorry 
for you. That is why I stayed with you, this 
afternoon ; I knew you would hate to have us all 
go off to leave you. ” 

“But I wouldn’t.” 

Judith stared at him; but his eyes were fixed 
upon the poplar trees outside the gallery rail, and 
the vertical lines between his brows were deeper 
even than it was their wont to be. Judith’s voice 
became sprightly once more. 

“Now what would you like best to do ? ” 

“Smoke,” Wade replied laconically. 

“But the doctor said that would be the very 
worst thing you could possibly do,” she reminded 
him. 

“ Exactly. That is why I wish to do it. ” 

Judith’s violet-blue eyes opened wider. 

“Why, Wade I” she said, and her accent was 
not interrogative. 

Wade’s eyes turned towards the tree again; but 
he made no effort to focus them upon anything 
within his field of vision. He was merely wonder- 
ing impatiently if all girls were alike, like this 
pretty, self-sufficient damsel at his elbow who, 
not content with the contemplation of her own 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


171 


good deeds, persisted in calling his attention to 
them, to the end that he might be fully aware 
of his own gratitude. It was good of Judith 
to stay at home with a dull fellow like him- 
self. He appreciated it all fully. Neverthe- 
less, he devoutly wished that she had gone with 
the others. 

“Are n’t you feeling as well, to-day, Wade ? ” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“ Because you are so quiet. ” 

For an instant, Wade seriously contemplated 
the effect of letting off one resounding yell. Then 
he curbed the wayward impulse, as being unworthy 
of his years. 

“ Am I usually so noisy ? ” 

“Not noisy, exactly; but you and Sidney are 
never so quiet as this.” 

“No?” 

“No. You always seem to have enough to say 
to her.” 

Wade faced his sister again, and a sudden 
twinkle came into his dark eyes. 

“Jealous of Sidney, Judith ? ” 

And Judith smiled once more, as once more she 
threaded her needle. 

“ Oh, no. Why should I be ? ” she said serenely. 

Then the pause lengthened, widened, and be- 
came unbreakable. Under her placid exterior. 


172 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Judith was thoroughly disgusted with her half- 
brother and with herself. She had chanced to 
be in her own room, three days before, and had 
overheard the talk between Wade and Sidney, 
had overheard Wade’s slighting reference to 
herself and Sidney’s attempted championship. 
With all the strenuousness of her years, she had 
promptly taken herself to task for her neglect of 
her older brother, and since then she had been on 
the lookout for an opportunity to make amends for 
past neglect by present devotion. That afternoon 
had offered the opportunity ; she had accepted the 
opportunity and offered the devotion. Now, to 
her mortification, she found Wade in no humour 
to be grateful. His manner seemed to her to be 
flippant and tinged with sarcasm, and she resented 
it accordingly. In her resentment, however, she 
took no heed of the fact that her own manner had 
been sanctimonious and tinged with superiority. 
She only sat and sewed and wondered why it was 
that she and Wade never seemed able to get on 
together. But this time, at least, it was not her 
fault. She could fancy the others, making merry 
in the woods. She had voluntarily turned her 
back upon them, for the sake of Wade. And 
now Wade, his hands in his trouser pockets, was 
pacing the gallery in a moody silence while she 
sat in the corner and sewed embroidery. Her 


ON THE ST. LA WHENCE 


173 


silk knotted, then broke under her fingers, and 
one large tear slid down the ridgepole of her nose. 
She brushed it off hastily, and spoke before her 
voice could grow husky. It was a part of Judith 
Addison’s creed that no one should ever see her 
cry. 

“There is Miss Freda,” she said listlessly. “I 
wonder who is with her. ” 

With equal listlessness, Wade glanced over his 
shoulder. Then his figure stiffened into energy. 

“Oh, Dune!” 

At the hail, the man glanced up at the gallery. 

“Winthrop, by Jove! Where did you come 
from ? ” 

“Boston, a few aBons ago. Good afternoon, 
Miss Leslie. Won’t you both come up ? ” 

“ Who is it ? ” Judith asked. 

“ Duncan Ogilvie. My class at Harvard. Fine 
fellow, too.” Wade’s last words floated back 
from the head of the stairs leading down from 
the gallery. 

And Judith ran her fingers through her fluffy 
hair and straightened the ribbon at her belt. 

It was left for Bungay, however, to supply the 
final missing link in the acquaintance. Hearing 
the calls of greeting exchanged between the two 
men, he abandoned Ruth to her dolls and appeared 
on the gallery, just as a broad-shouldered, blond 


174 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


man came dashing up the stairs and grasped the 
hand Wade held out to welcome him. 

“Why, hullo, Mr. Dobbin!’’ he said blandly. 
“Did you come all this way up here to see me 
and Jumbo ? ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


175 


CHAPTER TWELVE 

W ELL, Mamzelle Peekaboo,” Ronald ob- 
served, the next day; “how does it seem 
to have your nose out of joint ? ” 

“ As how ? ” she inquired placidly. 

For his only answer, Ronald pointed to the river 
bank, where Wade Winthrop and Duncan Ogilvie 
were absorbed in low-voiced conversation. 

Sidney laughed. 

“Perhaps you would better ask your sister,” 
she suggested. “ She is in a worse plight than I 
am.” 

“Not she. Freda is writing to seven of her 
best friends, giving each one of them a seven-page 
description of the pin Dune brought her. Mere 
possession isn’t enough; she’s bound to hold it 
over the others who don’t own a Duncan and a 
new pearl pin. Where did Dune and Wade get 
acquainted ? ” 

“ At Harvard. They were Hasty Pudding men, 
both of them. Wade will enjoy having Mr. Ogil- 
vie here.” 

Ronald eyed her keenly. 


176 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Shall you ? ’’ he asked. 

“ Yes, with reservations,” she answered honestly. 
“My common sense teaches me that Wade needs 
to talk man-talk now and then; and I like him 
well enough so I want him to have what he needs. 
And yet — ” 

“After all, it lets you out of some things,” 
Ronald said thoughtfully. 

But she faced him. 

“Don’t be too sure I want to be let out,” she 
said proudly. “You know I am very fond of 
Wade.” 

Ronald liked her spirit. 

“I do know, worse luck! None of the rest of 
us stand any show, when he is about. It was for 
that I spoke. Now it is our turn. Let Dune look 
out for Wade, and you come and play with me.” 

“Now ? ” she questioned smilingly. 

“Yes. Instanter. I want to walk to St. 
Joachim, this morning, and I am not going to 
walk alone.” 

“Where is Judith?” Sidney queried, not mali- 
ciously, but quite as a matter of course. 

Ronald’s dark brows met in a sudden frown. 
Little by little, he was coming to resent the gen- 
eral assumption that he was the constant attendant 
of Judith alone. Judith was not the only girl 
within reach ; and, since the nooning at the foot 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


177 


of the falls, he was by no means sure that she was 
the most likable. His afternoon in the woods, 
the day before, had gone far to strengthen the 
impression. Ronald Leslie owned an unusual 
allowance of chivalry. Nevertheless, he found it 
good to have a feminine comrade who could not 
only climb a fence, unassisted, but also could 
balance herself on the top rail long enough to 
laugh at him for his vain attempts to take it at 
a running jump. Sidney Stayre possessed the 
instinct, denied to most women, which taught her 
to accept a little occasional assistance as if it 
were sorely needed; but otherwise to shift for 
herself. Because her boy companions were will- 
ing to help her, she saw no reason that she should 
inertly accept their ministrations in details which 
she was fully able to accomplish for herself. 
Boys, to Sidney’s independent mind, were chums 
and comrades, not hard-working slaves. Other 
girls, if they wished, could look pretty, and be 
dainty, and squeal when their feet slipped on the 
mountain trail. For her part, she would shut her 
teeth and dig in her heels and go ahead. Inde- 
pendence and exceeding jollity were the proper 
attributes for her to whom beauty was denied. 
Strange to say, it never once occurred to the girl 
that she was outwardly attractive. Brown hair, 
gray eyes and a clear skin were items that counted 


178 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


for little, and her mirror only showed her face 
when it was at rest. Konald and Wade and even 
Paul who scoffed at the idea of being a judge of 
beauty, thought otherwise; but wisely they held 
their peace. And now Duncan Ogilvie was phras- 
ing their unspoken opinion. 

“ That ’s a charming young cousin of yours, 
Winthrop,’’ he said. 

“ So I think. Where had you met her before ? ” 

‘‘I saw her in the train, coming up here. I 
made friends with that infant terrible of a Bun- 
gay. The girl didn’t say much; but I watched 
her, whenever I could get a chance without her 
seeing what I was at. She ’s not exactly pretty ; 
but she is very taking.” 

‘‘Wait till you know her,” Wade advised him. 

“I’m not likely to get the chance. I ’m only to 
be here for three weeks, and Miss Leslie assures 
me that the girl is your shadow.” 

Wade shook his head whimsically. 

“It’s quite the other way about, Dune. She ’s 
the sunshine ; I ’m the shadow — in every sense of 
the word. ” 

The other man stretched himself out on the 
ground, and clasped his hands under his head. 

“ Now you ’ye given me the chance, old man — I 
don’t want to be too inquisitive, you know — 
what’s Wrong with you?” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


179 


“Lungs,” Wade responded tersely. 

“No! Not really?” 

“That’s just where you tell the truth,” Wade 
answered grimly. “Not really, else they’d not 
let me be here with all these youngsters. My 
end is n’t in sight ; it is only that it is wait- 
ing for me around the corner, and so I am 
bound to keep a straight road, to prevent its 
catching me.” 

“Beastly, too. And I heard you were just 
thinking about getting famous.” 

“ Dreaming about it, you ’d better say. How- 
ever, that ’s all up. ” 

“ Who says so ? ” 

“Helmer and Ericsson. Besides, my father 
went the same way.” 

“ That makes it possible, but not a fact, by any 
means. Have you seen Cromwell ? ” 

“ What ’s the use ? ” 

“This: that one of my aunts had her under- 
taker engaged, as you might say. Helmer gave 
her six months to live, Ericsson three. Then she 
went down to New York, and put herself into the 
hands of Cromwell. ” 

“Well?” In spite of himself, Wade’s tone 
betrayed his impatience. 

“ Well, that was ten years age. Last summer, 
she climbed Pike’s Peak.” 


180 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Wade smiled thoughtfully. 

“Good old Dune! We’re fools by nature, and 
we do like to hear such fables.” 

“No fable at all. Ask her. ” 

“ And the moral is — ” 

And Duncan Ogilvie gave it to him. 

“ Keep up your pluck and, when one specialist 
tells you an unsavoury truth, turn him down and 
go in search of another. You ’re not the fellow 
to knock under, Winthrop. ” 

Wade’s reply was slightly bitter. 

“ 1 know that. But what ’s the use of holding 
on to life, unless you can make it count for some- 
thing ? ” 

“None.” 

“Well, then I” 

Duncan Ogilvie sat up again. His blond face 
was frowning and intent. 

“ Winthrop, you ’re talking for the sake of 
saying something,” he observed dispassionately. 
“Your life isn’t bound up in calf and stowed 
away in a law office.” 

“No; nor anywhere else. Much you know 
about it, man. From your own showing, you ’re 
a success in your work, and you say, yourself, 
that you are engaged to the sweetest girl, this 
side the Atlantic.” 

The young man rose and stood looking down at 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


181 


his friend with blue eyes which suddenly had 
grown very clear and tender. 

“I am,” he said reverently; “and it is more 
than I deserve, much more. However, there are 
a few other things in life, and one of them is the 
whole-souled loyalty of a girl like your young 
cousin.” 

Wade’s face softened. 

“Yes,” he said slowly; “I know that.” Then 
he held out his hand. “Thank you. Dune,” he 
added. “ Somehow or other, you ’ve braced me 
up. I don’t know how or why; but I am glad 
you are here.” 

And so, in all truth, was Ronald Leslie. He 
was shrewd enough to know that, had Wade been 
less obviously occupied with Duncan Ogilvie, 
Sidney would never have consented to abandon 
him. Now, however, they were tramping along 
the St. Joachim road in the single file made 
necessary by the three-plank-wide walk. Sidney 
was ahead and, as Ronald stared down at her, he 
told himself that she was good to watch. Her 
bare brown head, ruffled by the breeze, caught the 
sunlight and turned to ruddy gold. Her rough 
brown skirt was short enough to show a pair of 
trim ankles and a pair of stout brown shoes, and 
her blouse of soft undyed pongee was held at the 
throat with a great knot of yellow ribbon. The 


182 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


girls whom Ronald had always known, were prone 
to appear in dainty pink and blue, and their char- 
acters harmonized with the colours. 

Already the double bend in the road had shut 
Grande Riviere from sight. St. Joachim lay 
before them, clustered around its parish church, 
and, beyond the village, the rounded dome of Cap 
Tourmente lifted its blue bulk against the paler 
sky. On their right hand, the ribbon-like farms 
stretched away to the river. On the other side 
of the road, the long line of whitewashed cottages 
nestled beneath the sheltering bluff. As they 
passed them by, Sidney peered in with eager eyes, 
and in each cottage some new sight awaited her. 
Here, a woman sat spinning in the door of the 
great living-room where a row of beds at one side 
divided the honours with the stove at the other. 
There, a woman was kneading biscuits in the 
open front door, and placing them, three in a tin, 
in a straight row up and down the railless stairs. 
Again, the hum of a busy wheel called attention 
to a trio of placid old dames, hooded and petti- 
coated, who sat knitting and gossiping in a group 
around the spinner; or a vast mongrel dog escorted 
its mistress across the road to the oven of white- 
washed stones, and inspected the burly loaves, as 
she slid them under the arching roof and banged 
together the square iron door. Out in the fields 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


183 


beyond the low thatched barns, women in flapping 
hats and abbreviated petticoats made hay, side by 
side with the men, while, on the gallery at home, 
the children minded the baby and, meanwhile, 
shelled countless peas into the gayly decorated 
bowls which are part and parcel of habitant life. 
Beside them sat the house dog, brindled and un- 
seemly of outline, his eyes fixed steadily on the 
yoked and sedate pig who waddled to and fro 
over the roadway, and on the procession of 
geese who came trudging out from behind the 
house in search of the richer feeding-ground in 
the farmland across the way. Everywhere was 
thrift, everywhere energy, almost everywhere 
cleanliness. 

“And yet,” Sidney said abruptly; “think of 
living here ! ” 

“ Why not ? ” Ronald argued. “ It ’s not so 
bad: no university examinations, no best haber- 
dashery; it”s a tranquil sort of life.” 

Turning, she surveyed him from head to heel. 

“Yes, you would love it,” she said then. “You 
would enjoy giving up your good clothes and your 
university, and settling down here to raise cab- 
bages and sheep.” 

“ It would depend somewhat on my neighbours. ” 

She laughed. 

“I can fancy it all: you shearing sheep and 


184 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Janet spinning the wool, and both of you clothed 
in homespun made by her own hands. In the 
winters, you both would take to knitting, by way 
of passing the time. It would be an enlivening 
prospect, almost as much so as the one that is 
facing Wade.’’ 

“ Mamzelle Peekaboo ! ” 

“Well?” 

Ronald’s tone was grave. 

“ What ’s the fellow going to do with himself ? ” 

At the imminent hazard of walking backwards 
off the narrow planks, Sidney turned and faced 
him. 

“Ronald Leslie, I don’t know.” 

Ronald knitted his brows. 

“Let’s sit down here, a minute. I don’t want 
you breaking your neck. But really, I want to 
know what’s going to happen to Wade. Is it 
truly all up with his law ? ” 

Sidney nodded slowly. 

“I suppose it is. Auntie Jack says that the 
doctors told her it would he years before he could 
stand regular hours, if he ever could stand them 
at all.” 

Quite deliberately Ronald whistled Canada from 
end to end and then began on The Marseillaise. In 
the second phrase, however, he broke off. 

“ Selah ! ” he said. “ But the fellow must be 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


185 


about something, or he ’ll either go wild, or else 
lose his grip entirely.” 

“If he is strong enough,” Sidney suggested. 

“ He is ; at least, for some things. In spite of 
this last set-back, he is ever so much better than 
he was, when he came. I see the difference, if 
you don’t.” Ronald bent down and plucked up a 
handful of grass from the turf at his feet. His 
merry eyes, meanwhile, looked troubled, and the 
colour stood high in his cheeks. “Mamzelle 
Peekaboo,” he said abruptly; “will you get in a 
temper, if I say things to you ? ” 

She laughed at his phrase. 

“I like your nickname for me; it is so very 
Chinese,” she responded. “But what sort of 
things ? ” 

“About Wade,” the young fellow answered, 
with simple directness. “ It ’s none of my busi- 
ness, I know; but aren’t you trying to coddle 
him to death ? He likes it. I should, if I were 
in his place, and there ’s no doubt that the poor 
chap needs all the good times you ’re giving him. 
But — ” Ronald hesitated. 

“Go on,” Sidney told him quietly. 

He attacked a fresh handful of turf. 

“Oh, I say, don’t get cranky,” he blurted out. 
“It’s not that I’m envious, or anything of that 
sort. It is only that I ’ve taken a liking to Wade, 


186 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


and I hate to see him chuck up the game. It ’s 
not as if it were necessary, either. He ’s a long 
way better than he was at first. He does more 
things without getting tired out; he acts more 
alive, less like a sawdust doll, wet, soggy saw- 
dust, too. I don’t mean to be hard-hearted. It 
is only that, even in my own class, I ’ve watched 
men lose their grip on things, and I don’t want 
it to happen to Wade.” 

“But it won’t,” Sidney protested. “And I 
don’t think I know what you mean, anyway.” 

Patiently Ronald set himself to explain. 

“ It ’s this way : a man gets down on his luck, 
is ill, or gets short of money, or something else 
goes wrong. Somebody starts to help him out of 
the hole, or else to pad it up, so he won’t be quite 
so uncomfortable. Instead of taking the help and 
using it to climb out of his hole on, he just sits 
down on his heels and waits for the other fellow 
to do it all.” 

Sidney frowned; not at Ronald, however, but 
at the new idea. 

“ But that ’s not Wade,” she said slowly. 

“ Not now. What ’s more, it must n’t ever be. 
But the question is. Miss Peekaboo, are n’t you 
making his invalidism too comfortable for him ? 
When he came up here, he was restless and trying 
to think of something to do, something he could 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


187 


do. Now he seems absolutely content to do noth- 
ing, and it ’s not a healthy frame of mind. ” 

Sidney faced him a little aggressively. 

“ How much are we any of us doing, I ’d like to 
know ? ’’ 

“Not one identical thing, Ronald answered 
flatly. “ However, we all know we ’ve got to go 
home again and work like dogs. That ’s the one 
thing that adds zest to shirking, the prospective 
grind that is bound to follow. But Wade hasn’t 
any grind. ” 

“Poor old Wade! ” 

“Yes; but that isn’t the point,” Ronald per- 
sisted. “It’s all right for him to loaf through 
the summer; but he ’s got to make up his mind 
that, when fall comes, he ’ll go to work with the 
rest of us. It ’s what you said, yourself, a month 
ago. In fact, it was you who put the idea into 
my head. Since then, I ’ve been watching Wade. 
The honest fact is, Mamzelle Peekaboo, the fel- 
low’s moral muscle is growing soft, or will grow 
soft, if we don’t look out for it, and, once it does 
get soft, it will be all up with him.” 

“I don’t see why,” Sidney said thoughtfully. 

Ronald rose and stood facing her. 

“Because he is a man and, as long as he lives 
in the world, he ’s got something to do about it. 
I ’m not hard on Wade; it’s only because I like 


188 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


him too well to enjoy seeing him sit down and 
take things as they come.” 

“Yes,” Sidney assented. 

“And, besides that,” he went on steadily ; “you 
and I are the only people here, this summer, that 
will try to put things right. The rest of them 
either spoil him, or let him alone. It^s up to us 
to set him to work again, even if we have to put 
on the spur. It sounds a bit beastly, I know ; but 
really is n’t it the kindest thing in the end ? ” 

“ But what is there that he can do ? ” the girl 
asked a little listlessly. 

And Ronald’s cadence matched her own, as he 
answered, — 

“ I ’m sure I don’t know. ” 

In silence, Sidney pondered the situation. 

“We are a good deal like a council of doctors,” 
she said at length. “We have diagnosed the 
disease to perfection; and now we neither of us 
know how to go to work to cure it.” 

Ronald’s face brightened, and of a sudden the 
cloud came out of his eyes. 

“ Then you agree with me ? ” he asked eagerly. 

“Yes,” she said slowly; “I do. I have been 
thinking it for a good long time ; but I hated to 
give in and admit it, even to myself.” 

“ And you ’re not cross at me ? ” he urged, as 
he held out his hand to assist her to her feet. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


189 


Without stirring otherwise, she took the prof- 
fered hand. 

“Not so long as you stand by me, and help to 
cure the disease,’^ she answered, with a steady 
gravity he had not seen in her before. “ It may 
be that we neither one of us can manage it alone. 
In that case, our best chance is to fight it out 
together.” 

And, over their clasped hands, their eyes met 
and sealed their compact. 


190 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

S LOWLY the buckboard lifted itself upon two 
wheels, paused for an instant with the other 
two wheels balanced in mid air, then turned itself 
over like a gigantic griddlecake. The horse, 
meanwhile, although somewhat annoyed to find 
one of the shafts under his body and the other 
one tickling the apex of his spine, paused too, 
with his forefeet braced on the edge of the road, 
his head hanging indolently forward over a sheer 
precipice of some hundreds of feet. So deliber- 
ately had the whole event occurred that Janet, 
alone in the buckboard, had had ample time to 
step out on the ground and move backward from 
the immediate scene of action. The others sur- 
rounded her, laughing, excited, breathless. 

‘‘ What happened ? 

“ What turned him ? ’’ 

What made you do it ? ” 

“ Me do it ? J anet echoed in disgust. “ I 

didn’t do it; it was that booby of a horse.” 

But Sidney stepped to the horse’s head, and 
began rather ostentatiously to pat his aged 
Roman nose. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


191 


‘‘Did she call you a booby?” she queried. 
“Well, it’s a shame. Not many horses would 
have stopped.” 

Paul interposed. 

“ Tiddles, did you ever drive that horse ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then don’t display your ignorance by talking 
about him. He ’d stop on top of a bonfire, if you 
would let him. But what did you do, Janet? 
Did you cross the reins ? ” 

“Of course not.” Janet’s tone was indignant. 

“ What did you do, then ? ” her brother asked, 
while he busied himself with straps and buckles. 

“I did n’t do anything, I keep telling you. The 
beast tried to walk into that opening across the 
road, and I pulled him out. Then he changed his 
mind and decided to commit suicide down the 
bank ; but he turned lazy on the way and compro- 
mised on murder, instead.” 

Ronald, meanwhile, had freed the horse from 
the buckboard, and Paul and Duncan Ogilvie had 
restored it to its normal position once more. 

“Nothing broken,” Paul reported then. “I 
dare you to try it again, Janet. You might do 
it six times running, and not come out like this, 
one single time.” 

“All right,” she said undauntedly; “I’m will- 
ing to try it, if you ’ll pay the bills. I ’d like to 


192 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


see just how great an idiot this horse can make 
of himself.” 

“His brains equal minus infinity plus thirteen,” 
Ronald observed. “And, speaking of brains, do 
somebody go after Wade and stop him. He is in 
a pensive mood, this afternoon, and he will get 
to meditating and go on indefinitely, unless some 
one holds him up. Hurry, Paul, and catch him. 
I came for a drive, and I don’t want to walk all 
the way to St. Tite. ” 

“Judging by our horseflesh, you will, though,” 
Paul said over his shoulder, as he went hurrying 
forward up the path with Janet, lithe as a 
squirrel, keeping step at his side. 

Paul had spoken wisely and from the depths of 
his two-hour experience. Theoretically, they 
were driving up into the mountains, twelve 
miles, to the tiny village of St. Tite des Caps. 
As an actual fact, they were making a large part 
of the journey on foot, with occasional intervals 
when the horses allowed them to ride over a 
short stretch of level road. At the foot of the 
first slope, there had been a difference of opinion, 
brief, but pronounced. With drooping heads and 
melancholy faces turned back towards the buck- 
boards, the horses had manifested a settled de- 
termination not to budge until their load had 
lightered itself. The contest might have been 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


193 


prolonged indefinitely; but Judith’s timidity, 
overpowering her inertia, had carried the day. 
She had absolutely refused to trust her life to 
such shambling legs upon such a slope, and she 
had dismounted in haste and by means of the rim 
of the wheel. A hurried consultation had fol- 
lowed. As result, Janet as the lightest and 
Wade as the least vigorous had been detailed to 
drive the two buckboards, and the others had 
strolled along in their leisurely wake, talking 
idly and stopping often to rest. 

Of the eight faces, that noon, six had worn 
wide smiles of content, as the two buckboards 
had driven away from the Addisons’ gate. The 
other two were slightly downcast. 

“I don’t wish to seem selfish, but — ” Sidney 
had said, and she had completed her sentence by 
climbing into the front seat of the less reputable 
buckboard. 

And Ronald had added placidly, — 

“ Neither do I, but — ” as he had taken his 
place at her side. 

The other buckboard, with Janet and Paul 
wrangling merrily over the reins and Freda 
Leslie and Duncan Ogilvie on the back seat, 
was already nearing the bridge at the turn of 
the road. There was nothing, then, for Wade 
and Judith to do but to put themselves under 
13 . 


194 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


the diminutive chaise-top which covered the 
back seat of the remaining backboard. They 
did so, however, with none too good a grace. 
Wade missed Sidney at his elbow on general 
principles. Judith’s objection was wholly spe- 
cific, and concerned itself with Ronald’s apparent 
defection. The pair on the front seat, however, 
looked out upon the world with good-natured 
eyes, wholly oblivious of the hopes they had set 
at naught. To Sidney’s unsentimental mind, it 
mattered not pne whit whether Wade was at her 
side or slightly in the rear. Granted he was 
within easy hail, she was quite content. As for 
Ronald, he and Janet were the best possible 
chums, and it would never have occurred to him 
that a fellow could object to sitting with his 
sister now and then. However, the conversation 
was left almost entirely to the occupants of the 
forward seat. 

Frequently at first, then more seldom as it 
dawned upon her that she was calling forth only 
monosyllabic replies, Sidney turned to include 
Wade in the talk. Then, as they left the main 
road and came under the shadow of the ancient 
forest, she gave up the attempt. Wade was 
undeniably a dear; it was undeniably good to 
have him able to go out with them once more. 
Nevertheless, if he chose to be silent, it was not 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


195 


her place to talk for two. The girl had spent a 
morning of bright anticipations of the trip; she 
had hailed with delight Wade’s decision that he 
felt strong enough to undertake it with them, 
and now she resolutely declined to have her 
good time spoiled by the taciturn pair in the 
rear. She liked Ronald well, more even than 
ever, since she had had time to think over their 
conversation of three days before. Nevertheless, 
it made small difference to her whether the seat 
at her side was occupied by Ronald, or Wade, 
Paul or Duncan Ogilvie. She was off for a good 
time in the mountains, and she meant to have it 
at any cost. 

Wade, meanwhile, was dividing his time be- 
tween irresistible enjoyment of the views at his 
feet, annoyance at the chaise-top above him 
which gave forth sundry snaps and crackings, 
each time the buckboard lurched over a hummock 
in the road, and exasperated contemplation of the 
broad back of his neighbour in front. The exas- 
peration was wholly dominant, however, by the 
time it was decided that he should drive on 
alone, leaving the others to follow in a merry 
group. Judith, on the contrary, hailed the new 
plan with outward enthusiasm. Experience had 
taught her that all things lay in the grasp of her 
whose shoestrings refused to stay tied. Never- 


196 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


theless, when the party stood together at the top 
of the long, steep slope, the two disaffected mem- 
bers were still left in the lurch. Wade showed 
no inclination to move out of his place on the 
front seat, and accordingly Ronald, with a merry 
glance at Sidney, promptly bundled her into the 
rear and took his place at her side. 

‘‘You won’t get too tired, driving, Wade?*’ 
Sidney asked a little anxiously. 

And Wade made answer, — 

“Not at all. I like it.” But, for the life of 
him, he could not bring his voice to its u^ual 
tone. '• 

Two hours later, they sat around the table in 
the quaint French inn at St. Tite. The journey 
thither had accomplished itself by deliberate 
stages. When the horses were not stopping to 
rest, their drivers were halting them to admire 
the view which swept away, peak on peak, and 
peak on peak again, up and up for many a inile 
into the very heart of the blue Laurentides. 
Once the trailing banners of mist had swiftly 
gathered themselves together and come sweeping 
towards them, driving them to seek shelter in a 
mountain cottage where the good wife received 
them with a cordiality born of the long and lone- 
some days when no one crossed her threshold. 

And Sidney, as they stood in the doorway, 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


197 


watching the storm beat around them, while the 
sun lay yellow over the valley of St. Ferrdol at 
their feet, pushed her hand through the hollow 
of Wade’s elbow. 

“ Do you know what it reminds me of ? ” she 
asked, too low for the others to hear. 

“No.” 

His tone was kindly, though it betrayed neither 
curiosity nor interest. 

She persisted. 

“It ’s like your summer here.” 

“I don’t see why.” 

Unconsciously she adopted Madame’s metaphor. 

“Clouds, you know, and storm; but the sun- 
shine beyond.” 

Then she flushed at his answer, for it was curt. 

“All but the sunshine,” he said. 

Later, seated at the table between Janet and 
Freda Leslie, his mood still sat in the chair with 
him. Judith, with Ronald at her side, was de- 
vouring mountain strawberries and cream with 
contentment and a hearty appetite. Paul and 
Sidney were squabbling over the golden-brown 
pancakes, and Duncan Ogilvie, at the foot of the 
table, was chattering bad French to the buxom 
hostess who had just appeared with a fresh supply 
of omelettes and steaming coffee. Freda turned 
to Wade with a smile. 


198 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ It is very good to have you with us, Mr. Win- 
throp,” she said, in her level English voice. 

He smiled in dutiful acquiescence. 

It certainly is a beautiful place to be. ’’ 

“ And we are beautiful people to be with, ’’ Paul 
interpolated, from across the table. “ Smile, 
Wadeikins, and look as if you meant it.’’ 

‘‘How canyon smile, when you ’re eating pan- 
cakes?” Janet objected suddenly. “They de- 
mand all your attention. It ’s the custom of the 
country to roll them up, like the paper jumpers 
Ronald used to make in school ; but, unless you 
look out, they unroll again just at the critical 
moment. ” 

“ When is the critical moment ? ” Duncan Ogil- 
vie asked. 

And it was Sidney who answered, — 

“ Before you ’ve tasted them, of course. After- 
wards, it becomes impossible to criticise.” 

Paul leaned back in his chair. 

“Likewise, there comes a time when it is im- 
possible to eat any more. Janet, I ’ll race you to 
the church and back, for the sake of getting up 
some more appetite.” 

Sidney rose. 

“All right. Wade and I will be judges at the 
turn. Come, Wade. Shall we take possession of 
the announcement box ? ” And she led the way 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


199 


out to the road, with Paul and Janet frisking 
and giggling at her heels. 

“ Wade Winthrop, what is the matter, to-day ? ’’ 
she asked fearlessly, as they walked away down 
the road together. 

He stared moodily out at the distant hills. 
Then he made moody answer, — 

“ Is anything ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“That ’s what I was asking you,” she reminded 
him. 

“I believe,” he said slowly; “that I am rather 
cross.” 

In spite of herself, the girl laughed at this 
deliberate, judicial statement of a self-evident 
fact. 

“ I not only believe it ; I know it, ” she answered. 

Turning, he stared at her in mingled wonder 
and annoyance. 

“ Do you mean that I show it ? ” he asked. 

And Sidney made unhesitating answer, — 

“I should rather say you did.” 

“I’m sorry,” he replied. 

“So am I. It shows something has gone 
wrong. Besides, it’s not like you, Wade.” 
Then she hesitated. “Of course, I know I’ve 
no business to be lecturing you,” she added. 


200 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Keally, it is very rude of me, Wade, and very 
uppish. ’’ 

don’t see why,” he observed thoughtfully. 

“ For one reason because I happen to be a little 
younger,” she suggested, while she led the way 
across the open square in front of the church and 
mounted the stairs leading to the little platform 
whence the parish announcements were wont to be 
made, after the Sunday morning mass was over. 

“Yes, a few hundred years. And yet,” he gave 
her a whimsical smile, as he seated himself on the 
step at her feet ; “ there are times when I feel a 
mere babe in your hands.” 

With her chin on her fists, she surveyed him 
intently. The old frown had come back between 
his brows, but with a difference. Where it had 
formerly been a token of listless depression, it 
now showed restless discontent. Had Sidney 
been older, she would have welcomed the change, 
as marking the renewal of his old-time energy for 
which Ronald had been so ardently hoping. Now 
she told herself merely that, without the frown, 
her cousin would have been a good-looking man, 
and, obeying some sudden impulse, she bent down 
and rubbed her hand across his wrinkled forehead. 

“ What ’s that for ? ” he asked quickly. 

“Smoothing out your scowl,” she assured him 
composedly.. 


ON THE ST LAWRENCE 


201 


But he shook his head. 

“You ’ll have to go deeper than that, Sidney.” 

“I ’ll begin with that, though. It ’s not becom- 
ing to you to scowl like that, anyway, and I don’t 
see any reason you should. ” 

“ You don’t ? ” 

Abruptly he threw the question at her. Boldly 
she caught it and tossed it back again. 

“No; I don’t. Why should you ? ” 

“Look at Dune,” he said briefly. 

Sidney’s face betrayed her remoteness from his 
meaning. 

“ But I can’t. He ’s not in sight. ” 

“ I ’m not joking, ” he said impatiently. “ There 
is all the difference in the world between us.” 

“Of course,” Sidney answered, with intentional 
literalness. “Anybody can see that. He is big 
and blond; you are little and dark.” 

“ That ’s not what I mean. He is doing some- 
thing.” 

“ So are you.” 

“What?” 

“Worrying the life out of your cousin,” Sidney 
responded unexpectedly. 

Wade turned sharply and looked up at her. A 
blow in the face could scarcely have surprised him 
more. 

“Worrying, Sidney ? You ? ” 


202 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


‘‘Yes.” 

“ About me ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ But what ’s the use ? ” 

One hand shut on the fingers of the other, and 
the flesh of the fingers grew white under the 
pressure. 

“Because things aren’t going right with you, 
Wade, and I don’t know what’s the matter,” she 
answered quietly. “I’ve been here a month, to- 
day. When I came, you just lay around in a 
hammock ; you did n’t exercise at all ; you did n’t 
talk to any of us ; you acted as if you ’d like to 
shut yourself up inside a gigantic eggshell and 
spend your days watching the walls. Now, in 
spite of your horrid bronchitis, you really are be- 
ginning to be a good deal alive. And yet — ” 

“ I am crosser than ever ? ” he queried, with a 
smile. 

Sidney hesitated, her eyes fixed upon the dis- 
tant road where a pair of oxen shuffled along in 
front of their heavily laden cart. 

“Well, yes; that is just about it,” she replied 
slowly. “ Cross is n’t quite the right word, 
though. Something is rubbing you the wrong 
way, and I can’t understand it, when we all can 
see that you ’re growing stronger, every single 
week. Of course, it may have been there, all 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


203 


the time ; only I did n’t know you well enough, 
at first, to notice it What is wrong, really, 
Wade ? ” 

For a long time, he was silent, so long, in fact, 
that the girl feared he might be angry at her 
insistence. When he spoke, however, his voice 
had its old hearty ring. 

“ After all, Tiddles, I think the best name for 
it all would be mental growing-pains,” he sug- 
gested, with the whimsical fun which Sidney had 
learned to recognize as the prophet of his best 
moods. 

Bending over, she took his head in her hands 
and tilted it backward until she could look down 
into his eyes. 

“Cousin Wade, do you think I am a very un- 
mannerly young person ? ” she asked. 

“ Surely. Why ? ” 

“ Because I forget that I am ten years younger 
than you; because I lecture you and try to give 
you good advice ; because I keep putting my fore- 
finger into your mental pie ? I know it is bad 
manners. I make up my mind, over and over 
again, that I won’t do it. I ’m nothing but a 
girl, and I know I don’t understand man things. 
I should n’t blame you a bit if you lost your tem- 
per at me. Only — ” 

“ Only ? ” he echoed, as she paused. 


204 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Only nobody else does it, except Auntie J ack. 
Judith would, only she does n’t dare. And when 
you go into your shell and glower out at us — why, 
then it makes me want to know what ’s the matter, 
and what I can do about it all,” she concluded 
rather tempestuously. 

“ What a nuisance I am to you, Sidney ! ” 

“No; you ’re not a nuisance, either,” she con- 
tradicted. “You know that as well as I do. It 
is only just this: if there is something really 
wrong, I want to go to work to make it better. 
If there is n’t, then I want you to stop being pen- 
sive, and get a little good out of life as you go 
along. It is n’t for me ; it ’s for you. And it 
is n’t for you only; it is partly for your mother. 
When you have an olf day, she has an off night, 
and she comes down to breakfast with her eyes 
looking like saucers.” 

Turning, he stared directly up into her earnest 
face and, as he stared, the trouble came back into 
his eyes. 

“Sidney,” he asked; “tell me honestly: am I 
getting selfish ? ” 

“Not exactly; not in anything you do,” she 
replied with some reluctance, for Wade’s gaze 
was compelling her to speak, yet she shrank from 
hurting this cousin of whom she had grown so 
fond. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


205 


‘‘ What then ? ’’ he questioned steadily. 

“You don’t mean it, anyway, Wade,” she 
parried. “ It is n’t what you do ; it is only what 
you don’t do.” 

Older man that he was, and with so much ex- 
cuse lurking in his invalidism, he yet took the 
rebuke without flinching or seeking to turn it to 
one side. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t noticed it. 
I am glad you told me, Sidney. It was n’t easy ; 
but I hope it will do me some good.” 

He rose, as he spoke, for Janet and Paul were 
below their perch, clamouring for their judgment 
in the race. The next morning, however, he was 
waiting on the gallery when Sidney came down to 
breakfast. 

“ Slept much, Tiddles ? ” he asked composedly. 

“Not much,” she confessed. 

“Why not?” 

“ Conscience. I let my tongue run away with 
me. I was horrid and rude and altogether too 
cocky, and I lay awake to repent of my sins.” 

“But don’t,” he advised her briefly. “You ’re 
the first person who has had the nerve to tell me 
the truth, and I mean to make it do a little good. ” 
And, arm in arm, the cousins strolled in to 
breakfast. 


206 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

A ll alone, Judith ? ” 

The girl looked over her shoulder, as 
Mrs. Addison stepped out on the gallery. 

«Yes.» 

“ Where are the others ? ” 

“Up on Sundown Rock.” 

“All of them?” 

“Yes. The others started first, and Wade and 
Mr. Ogilvie went after them, just a little while 
ago.” 

Mrs. Addison came forward, took one chair and 
established her darning basket in another. 

“I am glad you did n’t go, too,” she said then. 
“ It ’s much more cosy to have you to talk to me, 
while I darn the stockings. ” 

“ Shall I do some of them ? ” J udith asked 
dutifully. 

“Not to-day, thank you, dear. I have nothing 
else to do, and, when I ’m not busy, I rather like 
the work.” 

“ How can you ? ” J udith said, with an accent 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


207 


of languid surprise at her mother’s taste. Paul 
does make such horrid holes.” 

Mrs. Addison laughed. 

“And he does have such a good time making 
them,” she added. 

“ Yes, only it does seem as if he might remem- 
ber to change, as soon as the little holes come. 
But boys are so careless.” And Judith sighed, 
as if in needless sympathy with Mrs. Addison 
who was darning away busily, with the blithest 
of smiles on her face. 

“You said Wade had gone up with Mr. Ogil- 
vie ? ” Mrs. Addison asked, after an interval. 

“Yes. They were down by the river for ever 
so long. Then, all of a sudden, they started up 
the hill.” 

“ What good times they do have together ! ” 
Mrs. Addison said, as she threaded her needle. 
“It has been so pleasant for Wade, their running 
across each other, and I think Mr. Ogilvie has 
enjoyed it, too.” 

“ It seems to me he leaves Miss Freda alone a 
great deal,” Judith observed. 

‘ Her mother laughed. 

“ But, my dear child, they must give each other 
time to breathe.” 

“Yes; but he was here, half the morning, and 
Wade asked him to come back, this afternoon. 


208 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Really, it did seem a little selfish of Wade; but 
I suppose he didn’t think,” Judith remarked 
virtuously. 

“Perhaps not. And I suppose he does enjoy 
talking to a man now and then.” 

Judith looked up. 

“Ronald is very manly,” she said. 

“For his age, yes. Still, he is much younger 
than Wade.” 

“Do you know what I think is Ronald’s worst 
fault? ” Judith inquired, after a pause. 

“No.” Mrs. Addison spoke deliberately, with 
her eyes fixed upon the needle she was weaving 
over and under a row of threads. 

The pause came again. 

“ Apparently you don’t want to know,” Judith 
said then. 

Mrs. Addison lifted her eyes. 

“No, dear; I am sure I do not.” 

“But I thought you liked Ronald,” Judith sug- 
gested. 

“Soldo. 

“ Then why don’t you like to talk about him ? ” 

“I do. That doesn’t signify, though,” Mrs. 
Addison’s voice was very gentle; “that doesn’t 
signify that I like to talk about his faults.” 

“ But nobody is perfect. ” 

“Possibly not.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


209 


Judith faced her mother directly. 

“Do you think that Ronald Leslie is perfect ? ” 

Mrs. Addison shook her head. 

“No, dear; he is something vastly better,” she 
said, with a smile. 

Again conscious virtue was manifest in Judith's 
tone. 

“ What can be better than to be perfect ? ” she 
inquired. 

Her mother's reply was unexpected. 

“ To be a healthy, faulty boy who is trying hard 
to get over his faults.” 

The girl considered the situation. 

“ Oh, then Paul ought to suit you ; that is, if he 
is,” she answered a little enigmatically. 

And Mrs. Addison made enigmatic answer, — 

“ He is, and he does. ” 

“ Perhaps, ” Judith responded doubtfully. “ But 
what do you think really is Ronald's worst 
fault ? ” 

Again Mrs. Addison’s reply was unexpected. 

“His best virtue is his jolly unselfishness.” 

And again J udith responded doubtfully, — 

“Perhaps so. But I asked about his fault.” 

Quite quietly Mrs. Addison let her stocking 
fall into her lap. 

“Judith dear, what is the use of talking over 
people’s faults ? ” she asked. “ Is n’t it a good 


210 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


deal like scolding about stormy weather? That 
just makes us discontented, and does n’t do one 
bit of good.” 

“Not the weather. But, unless we talk about 
the faults, how can we help people to correct 
them ? ” Judith demurred. 

“ By correcting our own, ” her mother answered • 
tersely. 

“I don’t see how.” This time, the girl’s tone 
threatened to become sullen. 

Mrs. Addison picked up her stocking once more. 

“Judith dear, you know I hate to preach, for 
preaching is prosy work. This time, you have 
driven me into it. Half of other people’s faults 
exist only in our own notion ; the other half are 
mostly caused by our rubbing people the wrong 
way. If we get too busy, either to imagine things 
or to rub people cornerwise, what is going to be- 
come of the faults ? ” 

“But suppose people rub us ? ” Judith queried. 

“Don’t pay any attention.” 

“Then they ’ll rub us all the harder.” 

“Not if they find you’re not feeling the rubs. 
Laugh at them, and you spoil all their fun.” 

“But I ’d never dare laugh at Wade and Paul,” 
Judith observed thoughtfully; “and, if I laughed 
at Sidney, she ’d never stand it in this world. 
She is a very queer sort of girl, mother.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


211 


Again Mrs. Addison threaded her needle. 
Then she drew a fresh sock over her darning 
ball. 

“Don’t you think so, yourself?” Judith per-, 
sisted again. 

Laying down the stocking with the ball half 
falling through the vast hole in the heel, Mrs. 
Addison counted on her fingers. 

“Paul careless, Wade selfish, Ronald faulty, 
Sidney queer. The thumb is left for Judith. 
What of her ? ” 

The girl flushed to the roots of her yellow hair. 

“I didn’t mean to be critical,” she said, in 
swift defence. 

“No; but you were.” 

“ I don’t think so. Of course, when I am here 
alone, I keep thinking about them, and it is so 
easy to say things to you. ” Her accent was medi- 
tative. 

Mrs. Addison laid her hand on that of her 
daughter. 

“ I am glad it is, dear. I hope it always will 
be. But why do you stay here alone ? ” 

“I — like it better, ” the girl answered, loath to 
confess that the others, strolling away by twos and 
threes, had neglected to suggest that she should 
go with them. 

“And yet, after all, you didn’t come here for 


212 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


the sake of sitting on the gallery/’ Mrs. Addison 
replied as carelessly as if, for days, she had not 
been watching with uneasy eyes Judith’s increas- 
ing tendency to be outside the group. 

Judith’s evasion came swiftly. 

“You know I didn’t care to come here, in the 
first place. ” 

“ No, dear. We all came here for Wade’s sake. 
We oughtn’t to mind anything else, now he is so 
much stronger. But I thought you liked it at 
first.” 

“So I did. Now there doesn’t seem much to 
do.” 

“Was there any more, then ? ” 

“N — no; only we’ve seen it all once, and it 
does n’t seem worth while to go to the same places 
over and over again. ” 

“ What has become of the book you and J anet 
were reading ? ” 

“ She got sick of it, and she said she hated to 
sit still, out of doors.” 

“ But you used to read in your room, on rainy 
afternoons. ” 

“Only twice. Janet would insist on sitting on 
the bed, and she mussed it up too much.” 

“ What about the window-seat ? ” 

And Judith made answer, with perfect uncon- 
sciousness, — 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


213 


“Oh, that is altogether too narrow for two.” 
Then her tone changed and became a bit cen- 
sorious. “And, anyway, Janet doesn’t seem to 
care for anything, nowadays, but to climb hills 
and fish with Paul. They stick together, just as 
Ronald sticks to Sidney. I can’t understand 
that at all. It never seemed to me he liked to 
go tumbling along over logs and things. Only 
yesterday, she took him through a most frightful 
bog, and they came home, muddy to the knees. 
You were busy with Ruth and didn’t know it; 
but Sidney had to borrow a skirt from me, for 
her brown one had n’t dried out since she slipped 
on the logs, yesterday.” 

This time, Mrs. Addison looked up sharply. 

“ What was Sidney doing on the logs ? ” 

“Walking on them. She and Paul do it, half 
the time. They think it is fun; but I can’t see 
the fun of getting soaking wet up to your waist. ” 

“If they will stop at their waists, I don’t so 
much mind,” Mrs. Addison responded, with re- 
stored tranquillity. “Now and then, Judith, I 
wish you cared more for such things.” 

Judith glanced downward at her crisp and spot- 
less frock. 

“Oh, mamma! You wouldn’t have me walk 
those dirty logs ? ” she remonstrated. 

“Not the logs, perhaps; but — ” 


214 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Judith interrupted her. 

Or be a tomboy like Sidney and Janet ? ” 

“Better be a tomboy than a prig, dear,” her 
mother answered gently. “You are growing en- 
tirely too finical. 1 was a tomboy, myself, and I 
am not a bit ashamed of the day Uncle Maurice 
and I climbed on the cupola of the barn and nailed 
an American flag to the little post in the middle. 
We had to be rescued with a ladder, and I tore 
out most of my front breadth ; but I had helped to 
celebrate the Fourth of July, and I had had the 
satisfaction of being in the thick of the fun.” 

“I never seem to be that,” Judith said slowly, 
and, for the first time that day, there came into 
her voice the little accent of regret for which her 
mother had been wishing. 

“No, dear; perhaps not. There is only one 
way to do that.” 

“How?” 

Mrs. Addison rolled up her last pair of stock- 
ings. Then she rose to her feet. 

“Just by forgetting what you want to do, and 
going in for the general good time,” she said. 
“The same thing that made Janet sew seams and 
read books with you, and fish with Paul, and go 
out rowing at sunrise with Ronald, can make you 
the most popular girl in Canada and The States 
together. Popularity is n’t anything in this world 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


216 


but finding out what the next man likes to do, and 
then doing it with all your might. Now let ’s go 
up to Sundown Rock and see what those people 
are doing with themselves.” 

They found the rock deserted, however; but, 
pinned to a tree, there was a scrap of birch bark 
with a terse inscription by Ronald, telling whom 
it might concern that they had gone up the road 
leading to the dam. Pausing just long enough to 
glance up the river, stretching away to the point 
where, twenty-five miles up the valley, the citadel 
and Levis appeared to be clasping hands across 
the current, Mrs. Addison turned and led the way 
down the hill again to the road which the others 
had taken. Under their feet, a soft carpet of pine 
needles covered the rustic steps; over their heads, 
the sunlight sifted down upon them through the 
whispering treetops. At the foot of the slope, a 
golden-yellow collie sat by the fence, one eye up- 
on them, th‘e other upon the little flock of sheep 
munching grass in the field beyond. And then 
came the long stretch of open road, winding up 
the valley, with the river jabbering to itself, six 
hundred feet to the westward. 

Something was jabbering besides the river, 
however. As Mrs. Addison and her daughter 
came to a sudden bend where the road drew near 
the stream, there arose upon their ears a chorus 


216 


SIDNEY : HER SUMMER 


of voices, mingled with the noise of clapping 
hands. 

“ Good for you, Janet! 

Hurry up, Paul ! She ^s gaining on you ! 

“ Look out for the turn ! 

“There ’s another log.” 

“ She ’ll never get past it.” 

“She ’s all right.” 

“ Oh, Paul ! Rock to your left! ” 

“Well steered!” 

“She ’s on you! ” 

“Paul! Paul!” 

“Janet! Janet!” 

“What can they be doing ? ” Judith’s tone sug- 
gested that her wonder was not wholly approving. 

“It sounds like a Yale-Harvard race,” her 
mother answered, laughing, as a fresh chorus of 
shrieks greeted her ears. 

“Janet’s winning.” 

“ Steer for the rapids, Paul! ” 

“Cut off that turn, Janet! ” 

“Look out for the log behind! It will bump 
you, in a minute.” 

Mrs. Addison left the road and turned in the 
direction of the shouts. 

“Whatever it is, it sounds good fun,” she said. 
“Hurry, Judith. We want to see what is hap- 
pening. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


217 


But Judith pointed to the left. 

“There they are, down there,” she said. 
“ Mamma Addison, do look at that crazy child. ” 

Mrs. Addison’s eyes followed the pointing 
finger. Down on the bank of the river, Freda 
Leslie and Sidney with the three young men were 
gesticulating wildly in the direction of the cur- 
rent. Opposite them, the river, roused by its 
headlong plunge over the dam, tired of its placid 
course through the wide pool beneath, went racing 
along its shallow bed, twisting around the bends 
in its banks, swirling about the islets in its 
channel and fussing and fuming among the rocks. 
Down the current came the long yellow logs, 
sometimes singly, sometimes in great groups 
which chafed and jostled one another, leaped on 
one another’s shoulders and fell back again until 
the water was churned to whitening foam. Such 
a group was just passing out of sight around a 
bend in the river, and, in the open water in its 
wake, there rode two giant logs. On one log 
stood Paul, a long slim pole in his hands. On 
the other log and similarly armed stood Janet. 
Mrs. Addison gave a little exclamation of surprise 
and consternation. At the sound, Sidney turned 
her head. 

“Oh, Auntie Jack! ” she called. “I’m so glad 
you ’ve come. You ’re iust in time to see the 
finish.” 


218 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


And Mrs. Addison, scrambling down the bank, 
made answer with a whimsical accent which re- 
minded Sidney of her older son, — 

“Yes, I should think I was in time to see their 
finish. » 

But Duncan Ogilvie reassured her. 

“ I think you don’t need to worry, Mrs. Addison. 
The river is very shallow here. The worst that 
can happen to them would be a ducking, and they 
are used to that. Ronald says that Janet has 
ridden the logs for years, and Paul’s canoeing 
appears to have taught him how to steer.” 

“But what are they doing?” Judith asked 
Ronald. 

“Racing from the lower pool to the bridge. 
Steady, Janet I There comes a log.” Ronald 
lifted his voice suddenly. 

“What possessed them to do such a crazy 
thing ? ” 

No one answered, until Paul, with a deft 
use of his pole, had steered his way around a 
jutting point of rocks. Then Duncan Ogilvie 
replied. 

“Really, it’s not at all crazy. Miss Judith. 
Your cousin and I are threatening to try it, next. 
All you need is a pair of rubber soles, a level head 
and a bit of knack.” 

Mrs. Addison shook her head. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


219 


“You are welcome to try it; I sha’n’t. But 
what started them ? ” 

“Two of the lumbermen went down, while we 
were up on the rock. That set us to talking 
about it and wondering how easy it really was. 
In the end, Janet challenged Paul to a race, and, 
naturally, he had to try it.’’ 

“I don’t see why,” Judith said. 

Turning slightly, Duncan Ogilvie stared at the 
girl, as if she were the type of a species hitherto 
unknown to him. 

“Why, really, because he is a boy, you know,” 
he answered, and Judith, listening, was conscious 
of a sudden sense of rebuke. 

Nevertheless, she felt called upon to demur. 

“But Janet always has seemed so ladylike.” 

And once more Duncan Ogilvie made wondering 
answer, — 

“Yes, of course. Why not ? ” 

But again the chorus on the bank was heard, 
reinforced, this time, by the voice of Mrs. Addi- 
son. 

“ Ah-h ! J anet ! Cut off that corner, and you ’ll 
get him. ” 

“ Paul ! Look out ! ” 

“ Hug the bank, Paul ! ” 

“She ’s going to win.” 

“Going to upset, you ’d better say.” 


220 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Rock ! Rock ! Oh, rock I ” 

Paul caught the cry, looked up to see a great 
gray rock straight in his course, and, with a swift 
motion of his pole, he veered sharply to one side. 
He passed it by in safety ; but the stern of his log, 
whirling about unexpectedly, caught Janet quite 
unawares. The next instant, she was sitting 
in a shallow pool, while her log, freed from 
her weight, dived forward, whirled about and 
promptly bowled over Paul who was presently 
smiling back at her from another pool, ten feet 
away. 

Dripping and shaking themselves like a pair of 
water dogs, they regained the bank; but Janet 
disdained the applause which met them. 

‘‘Wait,’’ she said undauntedly. “We haven’t 
done it yet. It ’s one thing to race, and another 
to capsize. Paul was ahead ; but that ’s no sign 
he would have stayed there. Some day, we ’ll 
fight it out, Paul Addison, and then you ’ll find 
that I can ride the logs as well as you, even if I 
am a girl.” And, with a saucy, defiant little 
gesture of farewell, she turned and scuttled off 
towards home. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


221 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

A fter all, it was from Madame that Waders 
impulse came. 

“It is not so often that I see you now, my son,’’ 
she said, one morning. 

“Every day,” he reminded her. 

“As you come for Monsieur to give you the 
letters, yes. But you do not sit and talk to me 
beside the loom.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but — ” 

With a gesture of her uplifted shuttle, Madame 
interrupted him. 

“Make no apologies. It is not necessary. I 
like to have you by the loom ; yet it is better not. 
When first you came here, the others went away 
and left you to sit alone. Rather than that, you 
chose to come to talk to Madame. Now you make 
the excursions with them. So much the better. 
The summer is passing; but Madame and her. 
loom will be here when the summer is done. My 
son, you are better than you were. ” 

“ True. How did you know it ? ” 

“By your lips which now curve upward; by 


222 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


your eyes which now grow eager; by your tread 
which now rings crisply on the road/^ 

^‘Madame has logic,” Wade answered, laughing. 

“Why not ? I have seen men fall ill before. I 
have also seen them grow strong again. Yes, 
when this very chest,” Madame’s hand indicated 
the great oaken box on which she sat ; “ when this 
very chest was scant half full and my wedding 
robe still unbought, Monsieur fell ill with a fever. 
It came slowly, and it went more slowly, so slowly 
that I ceased to think of the chest and of the 
wedding robe.” As she spoke, Madame slid off 
the chest, turned about to open it and fell to fum- 
bling among the homespun stuff and linen inside. 
“This was he,” she added at length, as she took 
out a tarnished metal case and handed it to Wade. 

He pressed the spring of the case and looked 
down at the ancient miniature within. The face, 
albeit shaven and boyish, was the face of Monsieur ; 
but the figure was brave with the trappings of 
war. 

“ A soldier ? ” he asked, glancing up into the 
eyes of Madame. 

“Yes, he was a captain once. His family was 
good, and he was very brave. He even had a 
medal of bronze.” Madame spoke, as she would 
have spoken of one long dead. 

“ And why did he change ? ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


223 


Madame took the miniature, wiped it gently 
with her clumsy kerchief, then sat staring at it, 
as she moved it slowly back and forth as if seek- 
ing the best light possible. Then at length she 
looked up. 

“ Monsieur has said ? she said interrogatively. 

“ How long since he left the service ? ’’ 

“ Then ; at that time. The fever left him weak, 
too weak for the life of a soldier. He must give 
it up. He became postmaster, instead. ” 

“Was he disappointed?” Wade asked half 
involuntarily. 

Madame shrugged her shoulders, as she closed 
the case. 

“ What would you have ? It was written on the 
cards of fate. Had he lived the soldier’s life, he 
might have been shot,” she returned optimistically. 

“ Madame takes the best view of things. ” 

“Perhaps. It is better like that. The best 
view is always the more distant.” 

“That means ? ” Wade inquired, while she shut 
the chest and seated herself once more. 

“That those whose sight is good can always 
see to a happy end. ” Then her shuttle filled in 
the pause, before she asked, “Have you also 
looked to your own end, my son ? ” 

“Yes, Madame. Also I have been forced to 
look away from it.’^ 


224 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Madame plied her shuttle industriously, rolled 
back her web and plied her shuttle again. 

“I know,’’ she said then. “And shall you soon 
look back again ? ” 

“ Never. ” 

Madame lifted her brows. 

“Never is a long time,” she observed. 

“So I find it. However, it is impossible.” 

“Then,” Madame stayed her shuttle; “if the 
possibility comes never, then was your end not 
the true one. In that case, you must look for it 
again. ” 

“ Where ? ” Wade’s tone was a little impatient. 
It is disconcerting to receive from another the 
advice which one has been trying reluctantly to 
force upon one’s self. 

Madame shook her head. 

“I do not know. I have been told, however, 
that all things can be done by American men.” 

Wade’s thoughts flashed swiftly southward to a 
certain luxurious office, walled in with leather- 
bound books and dotted with leather-backed 
chairs. 

“Apparently not,” he said, and his voice was 
slightly bitter. 

“Not all at once, nor all by one man,” Madame 
continued tranquilly. “For myself, when it is 
too dark to weave, I work in my garden. When 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


225 


the dew falls there, I return to my room and 
knit.” 

In his wonted position astride the chair and his 
arms crossed on its back, Wade pondered her 
words. Suddenly he glanced up, with a laugh. 

“ Is it a lesson, Madame ? ” 

“For him who wishes to be scholar,” she re- 
sponded. 

Rising, he held out his hand. 

“ Then I will go away and study it,” he rejoined. 
“ Till to-morrow, Madame, and thank you. ” 

Twenty steps from the door, he met Ronald 
Leslie. 

“You were going ? ” he queried. 

And Ronald made easy answer, — 

“ Wherever you say. ” 

“Then come for a walk,” Wade said quietly; 
“unless you hate toddling along at my pace, 
Goliath. The fact is, I want to think something 
over, and I generally find I can think better, 
when somebody else is listening.” 

Ronald plunged his fists into his side pockets 
and fitted his stride to Wade’s shorter step. 

“Let her go,” he advised him. “Who has 
been treading on your toes ? ” 

“Nobody. Madame has merely put a bee in 
my bonnet.” 

“ As to what ? ” 


16 


226 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“As to what I am going to do next.” 

Ronald started to whistle, but broke off at the 
fifth bar. 

“ Good for Madame ! Well, what are you ? ” 

“That’s just what I don’t know,” Wade said 
flatly. 

“Well, fall to and think it over,” Ronald ad- 
monished him. “Summer is half gone; you’re 
more than half on your legs again, and it ’s high 
time you were deciding what to do with yourself.” 

Wade spoke deliberately. 

“The question seems to be whether it is worth 
while to do anything. ” 

Ronald turned the whole upper half of his body 
about and faced him. 

“Being a man, yes,” he answered, in much the 
phrase which Duncan Ogilvie had used to Judith, 
only the day before. 

“But I don’t need the money,” Wade argued, 
and his tone was a bit impatient. 

“But you do need the work,” Ronald replied 
imperturbably. “We all do; else we lose the fun 
of loafing.” 

Wade took a dozen steps in silence. Then he 
laughed. 

“I believe you ’ve hit it, Goliath,” he said. 

“Of course. I learn a few things, even in 
McGill,” Ronald said, with serene good temper. 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


227 


“You Harvard men are slow to admit it; but 
you all have to knock under in the end.” 

Wade took another dozen steps. Then he 
said, — 

“ Granted that I must go to work, what must I 
do?” 

Ronald laughed. 

“Oh, that I How should I know? Whatever 
you hate least.” 

“ That is law, and out of the question. ” 
Wade’s reply came crisply. 

“Poor old chap I Yes. What next ? ” 

“I used to think I ’d like to write,” Wade sug- 
gested tentatively. 

“Why not? You’ve money enough, and it’s 
a handy trade. You can do it out-doors, or 
anywhere. ” 

“ If you can do it at all. That is usually the 
question. ” 

“ Oh, anybody can do it. Ink is cheap. What 
should you go in for ? Poems ? ” 

In spite of himself, Wade laughed. It was 
plain that Ronald was not the prey of the lit- 
erary microbe. 

“ What would you suggest, Goliath ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, I ’m going in for engineering, on the heels 
of the pater, and I ’ve never thought much about 
other things. I ’d say something out of doors.” 


228 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Policeman, or cabby ? ” Wade queried. 

“Don’t laugh. I am trying to think. Why 
don’t you go in for newspaper work ? ” 

“Reporter?” Wade spoke with strong dis- 
favour, and it was plain that his disfavour was 
planted upon purely social grounds. 

“Why not? It gives you variety and out-door 
hours and all that. You won’t get rich ; but you 
just said you don’t need the money. It ’s not too 
deadly, and, by the time you go home, you will 
be able to start in on short hours and see how you 
like it. You ’ll get your baptism of printer’s ink 
and, in time, if we ever fight Russia, you may be 
graduated into a war correspondent. ” 

Wade pondered aloud. 

“ It ’s not exactly aristocratic for a man of my 
years ; neither is it too neat. Still, as you say, 
it ’s not too deadly, Goliath, and one might do 
worse. I had one brief epoch of helping edit The 
Lampoon^ in my younger days.” 

“ Before you thought of studying law ? ” 

“ Before I was sure. Why ? ” 

Ronald laughed. 

“ That ’s the pater’s theory. He says a man 
always nibbles at his real profession, gobbles 
something else and gets indigestion, and then goes 
back again to the first thing and makes a lei- 
surely meal. It may work itself out in your case.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


229 


“It may; but it’s not likely. I was never 
bitten with the editorial mania, only nibbled ; and 
law is the only law of my being. Mm! Well. 
Medical law has denied it to me, and I must look 
out for something else. Fact is, Goliath, I ’d 
rather do nothing in a lawyer’s office than attain 
glory elsewhere.” 

“It ’s not so healthy, though,” Ronald observed. 
“Moreover, as I said, it takes all the fun out of 
shirking. It is worth while to keep work in sight 
over your shoulder, just to make yourself realize 
what a lark it all is to be doing nothing.” 

In the meantime, Bungay and Ruth were doing 
something and, as usual, doing it with all their 
might. They were running away. 

The remoter causes had been gathering together 
for days. They consisted of an infinite number of 
points of injured dignity, and they concerned 
themselves with the hours when the owners of the 
injured dignity had been bidden to stay in the yard 
and play with Jumbo and the dolls, because moun- 
tain drives and climbs were far too strenuous for 
such little people. The immediate cause had oc- 
curred at breakfast, that morning, when Bungay 
had been rebuked for erecting a tower of breadcrust 
on a mound of oatmeal, and then upsetting the 
whole structure upon the tablecloth, in his en- 
deavour to help Ruth to construct an oatmeal 


230 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


dam across a saucer of milk. He had lifted 
up his voice in futile argument, futile because 
the effect had been marred by his putting both 
elbows into the debris, and thereby bringing 
down a second rebuke upon his already bur- 
dened head. 

“Nobody doesn’t love us any, Ruth,” he had 
observed sorrowfully, as soon as they were in the 
safe refuge of the barn. 

Ruth swiftly mounted the opposition. 

“Own mother loves Ruth,” she avowed. 

“ She does not. She said you were careless. ” 

“That was you, not Ruth.” 

“’Twas us both, only I wasn’t,” Bungay ex- 
plained lucidly. “If you’d had sense, you’d 
have made your own dam, yourself, without being 
helped.” 

“ Who told Ruth to make the dam ? ” she 
taunted him. 

“Do’ know.” 

“ Do, too. ’T was you. ” 

“ It was not. ” 

“It was. You made a lighthouse, and then you 
told Ruth it would be fun to make a dam. ” 

Bungay shifted his ground. 

“Well, was n’t it ? ” 

Ruth put out her lower lip. 

“ Look at your elbows, ” she said severely. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


231 


With infinite pains, Bungay twisted the sleeves 
of his blouse, until he could see the milky spots. 

“ Huh I Who cares ? ’’ 

“ Own mother. She scolded. Ruth does n’t 
like own mother to scold.” 

Bungay pondered for a long time, gravely, as 
befitted the subject. 

“People are very cross,” he announced at 
length. “ Wade made a cross face, and Sidney 
scolded, and Auntie Jack scolded. I don’t see 
why. Oatmeal is clean stuff, because we eat it 
for breakfast, and I can suck my elbows.” 

“Try it,” Ruth suggested practically. 

However, Bungay swept on. 

“And nobody doesn’t love us, anyhow.” 

“ How do you know ? ” Ruth queried. 

“People don’t scold people they love.” 

“Own mother scolded Ruth.” 

“That ’s ’cause she does n’t love you.” 

“ She does, teither. ” 

“ What ’s teither ? ” Bungay asked disdainfully. 

“ The most so in the world. ” 

Contrary to his principles, Bungay yielded to 
his curiosity. 

“ Is it French ? ” he inquired. 

“Don’t know. Ruth made it up.” 

Again Bungay became masterful in his disdain. 

“Sounds as if you did.” 


232 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“It does not, Bungay Stayre. You just said 
you thought it was French/’ 

Prudently Bungay shifted the talk. 

“ If I was Auntie J ack, I should be sorry I was 
so cross,” he suggested. 

“Maybe she is.” 

“ And I should be afraid we ’d feel so sorry that 
we ’d run away and get lost,” he continued craftily. 

Ruth became alert. 

“Let ’s,” she said. 

Bungay hedged. 

“ Let ’s what ? ” 

“Let’s run away. It would be so funny, when 
night came and we did n’t have to have own night- 
gowns on.” 

“Pajamas,” Bungay corrected her. 

“Well, pajamas, then. But let’s.” 

“Huh I You ’d be afraid.” 

“ What would Ruth be afraid of ? ” Ruth asked. 

“Oh, bears and Indians.” 

She hesitated. Then she gave a nod, curt and 
full of decision. 

“Ruth isn’t ’fraid cat,” she retorted. “Come 
on. ” 

Bungay picked up Jumbo, laid Jumbo down 
again on a bed of chips, and spent some moments 
in cramming his xylophone into the slack of his 
blouse. Then he picked up Jumbo once more. 


OJSf THE ST. LAWRENCE 


233 


“All right. Where ’ll we go ? ” he asked. 

And Ruth, mindful of his late strictures upon 
her courage, made answer, — 

“ Oh, somewhere in the big black woods. ” 

With Bungay at her heels, she led the way to 
the gate. At the gate, Bungay called a halt. 

“Say, Ruth, what’ll we eat?” he demanded, 
and there was an anxious tone to the demand. 

She turned to look back at him blankly. 

“Ruth does n’t know.” 

“But we ’ll be hungry,” Bungay protested, with 
a sudden pang of emptiness as he thought of his 
wasted breakfast. 

“Indians don’t be hungry,” Ruth admonished 
him. 

“Yes, they are, too, sometimes.” 

“No; they are not. They eat berries and bear 
meat and — ” 

“ Where do they get their bear meat ? ” Bungay 
demanded again. 

“ Shoot it. And they eat fish and spruce gum 
and English walnuts.” 

Bungay’s reply was final. 

“ Well, s’pos’n they do ? ” 

“So can we.” 

“ Hh I This ain’t England and we ain’t Indians. 
Let ’s not go.” 

“’Fraid cat!” For a second time, Ruth re- 


284 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


sorted to the vernacular of the public kinder- 
garten. 

“I’m not ’fraid, too. I just don’t want to go 
and starve.” 

“Greedy pig! ” Ruth observed discursively. 

“ ’T is not greedy, too, to eat when you ’re 
hungry. My mother always gives me a biscuit. 
It’s just your mother that’s stingy.” 

Ruth put her chin in the air. 

“ Own mother gives Ruth cookie. ” 

Bungay’s reply came from the roomy storehouse 
of his imagination. 

“ I ’d rather have biscuits. Cookie gives you a 
red nose.” 

“Own nose isn’t red,” Ruth said defensively. 

“It is, too, and so is your hair. Some day, 
you’ll turn into a red Indian.” 

“ Some day, you ’ll turn into a rangatang, 
Bungay Stayre.” 

“Then I’ll bite your feet off short at the 
knees,” Bungay replied composedly. “Now come 
along. ” 

“ But Ruth is hungry. ” 

Bungay’s impatience led him to disregard the 
sudden shifting of Ruth’s viewpoint. He merely 
stamped his foot and waved Jumbo in the direc- 
tion of the barn. 

“There ’s apples in the big basket,” he said im- 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


235 


periously. “ Get one, quick, or they ’ll catch us, 
before we ’ve runned away any at all. And bring 
me one, and Jumbo wants seven or three of them. 
Hurry quick, and then we ’ll run away up the 
back hill, and Auntie Jack will cry, and Sidney 
will cry, and Wade will cry, and Paul will cry, 
and — ” 

Ruth cut in upon his catalogue of tears which 
was fast adapting itself to the forms of the Gre- 
gorian tone. 

“ What ’ll they cry for ? ” 

Bungay’s answer was comprehensive. 

“ Because we ’ve runned away and lost ourselves 
and they scolded and can’t find us and we don’t 
come home in time to be put to bed.” 

Suddenly Ruth’s face lengthened. 

“ Who ’ll read own go-to-bedtime story to 
Ruth ? ” 

And Bungay once more gave rein to his imagi- 
nation. 

“I will, and Jumbo will play you a song on his 
xylophone. ” 

Then he tucked Jumbo under his left arm and 
offered his right hand to the partner of his wan- 
derings. 


236 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


ISS than an hour before luncheon of that 



I j same day, Paul came into his mother’s 
room, looked about for a comfortable chair, then, 
seeing none, cast himself down at full length upon 
the bed. 

“ Oh, Paul, the mud on your shoes ! ” she re- 
monstrated, with a smile. 

He smiled back at her serenely. 

“Much better than if it were on your bed,” he 
reassured her, as he rolled over on his side and 
hung his feet into space. 

“ And crumbs, too ? ” 

“Don’t worry. I won’t munch yet. I only 
brought it, in case I had a sinking within,” he 
reassured her again. 

“ The biscuit is much more likely to sink 
within,” she reminded him. 

“Not this time.” And, by way of keeping his 
word, he folded his hands, biscuit and all, under- 
neath the back of his head. 

“ Did you catch many fish ? ” his mother in- 
quired, as she laid aside her book and picked up 
her knitting. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


287 


“ Only two. There ’s nothing doing with the 
trout, to-day. Has anybody been up at the dam ? ” 

“Have n’t you ? ” 

“I meant anybody else.” Paul took a hasty 
bite at his biscuit, folded his hands under his 
head again and went on speaking, albeit thickly. 
“ They ’re mending the dam, all across the top, 
and putting in a new gate for the sluiceway. At 
least, it ’s all made, and they ’ll get it in, this 
afternoon. The water is running through the 
sluiceway now. I tell you, it is worth the seeing. 
The water tears down, all white foam, and does n’t 
stop fizzing until it is below the pool where Janet 
tumbled in.” 

“Where you tumbled in, you’d better say,” 
Janet’s voice reminded him from just outside the 
door. “ May I come in, Mrs. Addison ? ” 

“ Gladly, my dear. ” 

And Paul added, without stirring, — 

“Charmed to see you. Will you take my 
chair ? ” 

“ Not unless you want it. I ’d rather have your 
biscuit,” Janet replied, as she curled herself up in 
the deep window-seat. 

“ What ’s the row ? Did n’t you get up in sea- 
son for breakfast ? ” Paul queried. 

“Yes. Breakfast was so good that I’ve kept 
wishing I had some more of it.” 


238 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


^‘Good, Janet! You’re coming on. In time, 
you ’ll get to where you can try your hand at an 
American joke.” And Paul dropped his biscuit 
in order to applaud her witticism properly. 

Janet made a hasty snatch at the biscuit. Then 
she turned demurely to Mrs. Addison. 

“ Where is Sidney ? ” she asked, as she nibbled 
her prize. 

“Isn’t she down by the river, with Judith and 
the children ? ” 

“No. Neither are the children down there. 
Judith is all alone.” 

“ Poor soul ! Why did n’t you stay with her ? ” 
Paul asked indolently. 

“ Because I was hunting for Sidney. ” 

“What for?” 

“To get her to teach me a queer lace-work 
stitch. ” 

Paul braced one foot against the footboard and 
crossed his knees. 

“That’s where you get yourself left. Tiddles 
doesn’t know how to sew.” 

“Yes, she does; better than I can.” 

He wiggled his foot at her derisively. 

“ As well as you know how to ride the logs ? 
Girls are always pretending they — ” 

Mrs. Addison glanced up. 

“Chivalry, Paul,” she reminded him. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


239 


He accepted the rebuke with unimpaired good 
humour. 

“ Truth before chivalry. Still, if you ’re set 
upon it, I won’t knock Janet off her horse, this 
time. ” 

“Nor off her log? ” she reminded him saucily. 

He clasped his hands on his breast. 

“No fair! It’s pax for now, Janet. When 
mother gets gone, we ’ll have it out. But about 
Tids: that girl can’t sew.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Tell me when she ’s still long enough ? ” he 
asked. 

“ When you are n’t around to keep her stirred 
up,” Janet responded calmly. “I like you, Paul; 
but you are worse than a Junebug in a bottle, 
when we girls are trying to work.” 

Paul’s foot waved again. 

“Oh, come off, Janet! You’re worse than 
Jud — Honestly, mother, I wasn’t going to say 
anything bad about Judy. She ’s all right. The 
only trouble is that she is perfectly well aware of 
the fact.” 

Janet turned the talk into a safer channel. 

“ Then you don’t know where Sidney is ? ” she 
reiterated. 

“Where is Ronald?” Paul queried sugges- 
tively, although by this time he was quite re- 


240 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


signed to the idea of sharing his cousin’s society 
with his senior rival. To Paul’s mind, girls 
were a necessity only in the intervals of more 
active pursuits. It was good fun to romp with 
Sidney and to take her fishing now and then. 
When he really started off for a day’s sport, he 
was willing to leave her at home with Wade or 
Ronald. In the enforced idleness of the even- 
ings, however, he was prone to make open rebel- 
lion at the interminable games of chess with 
which Wade and Sidney beguiled the hours. 

“Ronald has gone for a walk with Wade. I 
was at the creamery when they went by; but 
they were so busy talking that they didn’t see 
me at all.” 

“ Where ’s your sister ? ” 

Janet made a grimace of derision. 

“Duncan has to go to Boston, to-morrow,” she 
replied tersely. 

“To stay?” 

“ A week. He is going out somewhere on the 
north shore, if you know where that is. Then he 
is coming back here to stay as long as we do.” 

“Good for him! We’ll save Ste. Anne’s 
Falls till he gets back, then,” Paul said promptly, 
for he had registered his full approval of Duncan 
Ogilvie, and he gladly would have spent half his 
time on the heels of the young man, had not his 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


241 


mother taken him apart from the others and in- 
structed him as to the probable wishes of Freda 
Leslie. 

Janet nodded. 

“ That ’s a good idea, Paul. P’tit wanted us to 
go, day after to-morrow. I know that Duncan 
hated to miss it, though.’’ 

“ Is Freda good for such a tramp ? ” Mrs. Addi- 
son asked. 

Janet counted rapidly. 

“There are thirteen fences between here and 
the beginning of the road through the woods, and 
Freda climbs a fence like a cow,” she observed 
impersonally. 

“Is she given to climbing cows?” Paul in- 
quired. 

“You know what I mean.” 

Paul rolled over on his stomach and lifted his 
heels in the air. 

“Then methinks I see Mr. Duncan Ogilvie’s 
day’s work cut out for him,” he remarked. 
“ What ’s the matter with taking a derrick along 
with us, Janet?” 

Janet giggled. 

“If I had Judith in the family, I wouldn’t talk 
too much,” she answered pertly. Then, as she 
caught the eye of Mrs. Addison, she had the 
grace to blush. “ Scold me, if you want io, ” she 
16 


242 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


added. “ I know I am bad to pass remarks about 
people; but really and truly, Mrs. Addison, Judith 
is funny when she tries to get over a fence. It 
takes her half an hour to lift the first foot over 
the top rail, and half an hour more to make up 
her mind that it is safe to lift the other one after it. 
I love Judith dearly; but I must say I admire her 
most when she sits in a chair and looks pretty.” 

Paul turned meditative. 

“ I wonder how you would look, if you tried to 
do that trick, Janet.” 

“ Like a squirrel in a teacup. Get up, lazy boy, 
and come and find Sidney.” 

“And, if you see the children,” Mrs. Addison 
added; “please tell them it is time to come in 
and be put in order for lunch.” 

However, lunch time came and brought with it 
no trace of the children. From her place at the 
head of the table, Mrs. Addison kept casting 
anxious glances out across the lawn. Under any 
conditions, she would have been disturbed by the 
prolonged absence of her young daughter; but 
when even Bungay’s voracious appetite failed to 
remind him that it was time to eat, Mrs. Addison 
felt that there was cause for serious alarm. 

“Judith, do you mind going over to see if they 
are at the Leslies’ ? ” she asked, as the luncheon 
neared its end. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


243 


And Judith went. She brought back Duncan 
Ogilvie and Ronald in her train. Duncan at 
once assumed command. 

“ Where have you looked ? ” he asked, as he 
came up the steps. 

“Nowhere. We have supposed, every minute, 
that they would come.” 

“ When have you seen them ? ” 

There was a swift consultation. Then Sidney 
was able to give the latest bulletin. Immediately 
after breakfast, while she was writing her daily 
note to her mother, Bungay had demanded infor- 
mation as to the whereabouts of his xylophone. 

“And that was nine o’clock, and it is two now. 
Five hours. Mrs. Addison, will you and Judith 
hunt through the house, and Paul and Ronald the 
barn ? I ’ll go down to the river. They delight 
in playing under the bank.” 

Quarter of an hour later, they gathered on the 
gallery where Wade was pacing to and fro, chaf- 
ing at his inability to join in any lengthy hunt. 
Mrs. Addison was rather white by now, and her 
eyes looked unnaturally large ; but her voice was 
quite steady, as she said, — 

“No news. What shall we do next, Mr. Ogil- 
vie ? lam going to throw the whole responsibility 
upon your shoulders. ” 

He smiled down at her reassuringly. 


244 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“They are broad ones, Mrs. Addison, and they 
are quite at your service. Don’t worry too much. 
The youngsters can’t have gone far, and we ’ll 
soon overhaul them. Let me see. Paul, you 
were at the dam; Ronald and Wade were down 
the main road past the creamery. Freda and I 
were up the hill on the St. Ferr^ol road and Sid- 
ney was out beyond the bridge. We none of us 
met them, and that accounts for all the roads. 
They must have gone directly up the hills back 
of the house.” 

“The back pasture is boggy,” Paul suggested. 

The older man nodded approval. 

“There’s our salvation, too, Paul. The bog 
won’t stop them. Bungay has a soul above bogs; 
but it may give us their trail.” 

But already Ronald had vaulted the fence and 
was inspecting the ground. Half-way across the 
pasture, he whistled shrilly, then beckoned, and 
the others followed in a body. They overtook 
him at the edge of a stagnant pool, and, in the 
black mud surrounding the pool, the prints of 
four small feet were plainly visible. The prints 
marked a trail for a full third of the way around 
the pool. Then they turned sharply to one side 
and led out across the pasture. 

Swiftly Duncan Ogilvie divided his forces. 

“Paul, you and Janet go straight up the hill. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


245 


Ronald, you and Sidney take the trail to the right. 
I will take the left. If any of you get track of 
them, start for the house at once. In any case, 
come back here at six o’clock.” 

This time, Mrs. Addison faltered. To her 
mind, there was something ominous in these 
detailed orders, for it was plain that Duncan was 
in no mood to view the affair lightly. 

“And what shall I do ? ” she asked as bravely 
as she was able, and, as she spoke, Ronald Leslie 
stepped to her side and rested one arm across her 
shoulders, as if to give to her some share in his 
full boyish strength. 

Duncan Ogilvie turned to her, and his face was 
very pitiful. 

“Mrs. Addison, I have to ask you to take the 
hardest part of all, that of waiting patiently at 
home. You and Judith can keep Wade com- 
pany. ” 

But Judith spoke with quiet dignity. 

“ Mother shall go back. I am going with you, 
Mr. Ogilvie.” 

He glanced at the dainty girl in her pale sum- 
mer frock and thin shoes. 

“ Are you able ? ” he asked dubiously. 

“I shall go,” she answered, with decision. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Judy, you ’ll only be in 
the way I ” Paul burst out. 


246 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“I think not.” 

But you can’t climb a fence to save your neck, 
and you always squeal at a rough spot in the trail. 
You ’ll just be a drag on Mr. Ogilvie.” 

She looked at her brother for an instant ; then 
she turned her eyes away. 

‘‘ I should like to try, Mr. Ogilvie. The other 
girls are going. If I drop behind, I will come 
home again,” she said simply. 

There was no time to waste in useless discus- 
sion. For an instant, he studied her face intently. 
Then he said, — 

“Come.” 

And, with the word, the hunt began. 

A good two hours later, Duncan Ogilvie halted 
long enough to hold aside a branch for Judith to 
pass by. As he did so, he looked her full in the 
face and, looking, he was conscious of a hearty 
admiration for the pluck his companion had 
shown. It had been by no means an easy trail 
they had followed; but Judith had taken it man- 
fully and without whimpering. A great zigzag 
rent in the back of her blouse showed where she 
had been caught by the low-hanging branches of 
a tamarack thicket, the front breadth of her erst- 
while dainty skirt bore witness to the times she 
had fallen, her hair was sown with pine needles 
and her shoes were coated with black and pasty 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


247 


mire. Nevertheless, all her inherent spirit had 
risen to meet the emergency. Quiet and deter- 
mined, she had borne her full share of the hard 
work of the day, and now, in spite of her anxiety, 
she smiled bravely up into the young man’s eyes. 

‘‘All right,” she said, with a brevity which 
Paul might have envied. “ Go on. I can follow. ” 
“ Sure you can keep this up ? ” 

“ I will. The children must be found. ” 

“Have you any idea where they can have 
gone ? ” 

She shook her head. Then she looked up. 

“ I ’ve just had an idea, only it seems absurd. I 
heard Bungay tell Ruth, the other day, that they ’d 
go fishing at the dam, some day, and catch more 
fishes than Jonah did.” Her voice broke a little 
over the childish boast. 

“ The dam ? ” Duncan Ogilvie spoke reflec- 
tively. 

“ Bungay always has teased to go there,” Judith 
added. “ He has begged for it, all summer ; but 
my mother did n’t dare let him go, he is so care- 
less and so likely to lose his head, if he finds 
something new to try.” 

“Has Ruth been there ? ” 

“ Once, just before Bungay came. ” 

“ So she might know the way ? ” 

“Yes. She has a good bump of locality. Even 


248 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


in Boston, she has put me right, over and over 
again.” Judith’s tone betrayed the pride she felt 
in the prowess of her small sister. 

Duncan Ogilvie spoke even more thoughtfully. 

“ The idea is a good one ; they may have gone 
to the dam. Only — ” 

“Only what?” Judith spoke impatiently, as 
she glanced at the lengthening shadows. 

“Only Paul would have met them, and the 
tracks pointed the wrong way.” 

“Yes; but — ” Suddenly the girl shut her 
hands together eagerly. “That is just it, Mr. 
Ogilvie. It proves it. Don’t you see ? ” 

He shook his head. 

“I am afraid I don’t.” 

“But it does,” she persisted. “They started 
this way; then they thought of the dam and 
turned back. They probably crossed the little 
bridge by the bungalow and missed Paul. Come 
quick. The dam is over this way.” And she 
started forward into the thicket at her right. 

“ But this will bring us out, the wrong side of 
the river,” he objected. 

“No matter.” She flung the words back over 
her shoulder. “We must get there as soon as 
possible. If they see us coming, they ’ll run for 
home as fast as they can. If it is too late — ” 

And Duncan Ogilvie, as he hastened along in 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


249 


the rear, felt that there was no need for her to 
finish the sentence. In all truth, the dam was 
no place for excitable little Bungay, for venture- 
some little Euth. 

And, meanwhile, Euth and Bungay were squat- 
ting rapturously upon the very rock at the foot of 
the dam where Paul was wont to do his fishing. 
Bungay was playing a song to Jumbo on his 
xylophone to comfort himself, for Euth had pos- 
sessed herself of the one string which his pockets 
afforded and was trailing it along the surface of 
the water, with an optimistic faith that some 
hungry trout would be inspired to swallow the 
bare end of the line. The sluiceway was closed 
now, and the water was sliding over the top of 
the dam where a trio of lumbermen, weary with 
their hard day’s work, sat idly by the edge, guid- 
ing the giant logs towards their destined leap. 
Facing up the river and quite absorbed in their 
leisurely task, the men were all unconscious of 
the pair of children down on the rock below. 

“It’s awful hard here and some slippery,” 
Bungay protested at length. 

“Sit on tighter,” Euth advised him. 

“ I can’t. My feet keep pulling me down. ” 

“That’s ’cause they are so wet and so big,” 
Euth observed, as she drew her line out from 
under an errant log. 


250 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Why don’t you catch something ? ” Bungay 
asked. 

“It isn’t time yet. Sometimes it takes all 
day,” Ruth replied sagely. 

“ Then let ’s go get some berries and bear meat. 
I ’m awful hungry. ” 

“Ruth wants to fish.” 

“ So do II ” Bungay burst out mutinously. 
“It’s my turn now.” 

“Not till Ruth catches something.” 

Bungay suddenly turned virtuous. 

“Auntie Jack would be sorry to see you act 
just like a pig, ” he remarked, in a voice that rose 
even above the notes of the xylophone. 

“Own mother does n’t know.” 

“She will, when I tell her.” 

Ruth turned on him. 

“You can’t tell her. You’ve runned away.” 

Bungay’s voice bade fair to drown out the roar 
of the dam. 

“ Then I ’ll go home and tell her. ” 

“ Tell-tale, ” Ruth said laconically, with her eyes 
fixed upon the trailing end of string. 

Hastily Bungay gripped Jumbo with one hand, 
the xylophone with the other, and rose to his feet. 

“Ain’t, too. And you were a bad, bad, bad 
girl, Ruth Addison, to make me run away.” 

“Ruth did n’t make you.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


251 


“Did, too! You said let’s run away and not 
have our pajamas on and go to bed! And I’ll 
tell Auntie Jack about it, and you ’ll have to go to 
bed and stay six weeks and not get any breakfast, 
either ! ” Bungay’s climax ended in a bellow of 
furious self-assertion. 

With artistic pride in her task, Ruth trailed 
her string up the current and down again, before 
she spoke. 

“ Then Ruth will stay here and catch own fish, ” 
she said calmly at length. 

Bungay turned on his heel to make a dignified 
exit. As he turned, he raised his eyes, and he 
uttered a note of consternation and of warning. 

“Ruth! Ruth! Quick! There’s Judith and 
Mr. Dobbin just across the river, and if they 
catch us, all runned away, we ’ll get spanked. 
Quick!” 

Swiftly Ruth sprang to her feet and the two 
children made a dash for the sandy bank behind 
them. As they did so, there came an ear-splitting 
crack, a crash and a roar. The next minute, the 
water came tearing down through the sluiceway, 
tossing on its foaming crest the broken planking 
of the new gate, and swept over the rock where 
Ruth had just dropped her line. 

Across the river, Judith clung in terror to Dun- 
can Ogilvie’s arm, while, through her chattering 


252 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


teeth, she tried to speak the words of a wholly 
irrelevant collect. No terror, however, assailed 
the hearts of Bungay and Ruth. Ten lusty toes 
dug into the sandy wall, ten grimy fingers 
clutched at the turf on the top, two shrill voices 
burst into a shout of ecstasy, confused at first, 
then dominated by Ruth’s strident proclama- 
tion, — 

“Hurry up, Bungay! You’re the children of 
Israel, and I’ll be Moses.” 

But, the next moment, they found themselves 
clutched in the nervous embrace of Sidney and 
Ronald Leslie. 

Bungay smiled up at Ronald with ingratiating 
frankness. 

“Hullo, Ronald! We’ve runned away; but it 
was Ruth that said to do it.” 

And Ruth freed herself from Sidney’s hysteri- 
cal kisses long enough to retort, with unfeminine 
energy of diction, — 

“Bungay Stayre, you ’re a whopper!” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


253 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

W HO is going? ” Janet asked. 

“Everybody but Wade and mother and 
the other babies.’^ 

Ronald objected. 

“The girls can’t go.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ The trail is something awful. ” 

“ P’tit says it ’s not so bad, unless the river is 
full.” 

“There hasn’t been any rain for days and 
days,” Janet demurred. 

“ That must be because Sidney has been staying 
at home lately, ” Paul retorted, as he threw a sofa 
pillow at his cousin. 

The pillow came flying back at him with unerr- 
ing aim; but Paul’s fist turned it aside, and it 
landed in Janet’s lap. 

“Anyway, I’ve been to Jean le Rose,” Janet 
said conclusively, as she stuffed the pillow into 
the back of her chair; “and where I have been, 
Sidney can go.” 


254 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“What about me ? Judith asked, from her 
place beside the lamp. 

To her surprise, it was Paul who answered, and 
his answer was cordial. 

“You ’re all right for it, Judy. Anybody who 
can come down a flat wall of rock as you did with 
Mr. Ogilvie, last week, is good for any trail that 
P’tit will show us. That is one thing I like 
about P’tit. He keeps on the safe side, and 
does n’t try any tricks. ” 

“Check! Mate!” And then Sidney looked up 
from her game. “You nearly wrecked my plan 
with your pillow, Paul; but I finally won out. 
This makes us even, Wade, twenty-three games 
apiece. I ’m so glad my father insisted on my 
learning to play. I hated it; but it is worth 
while, for the fun of seeing you look astonished, 
whenever I do beat. What about Jean le Rose, 
Ronald ? ” 

But Paul interposed. 

“Better ask me, Tiddles. Ronald wants to 
leave you girls behind.” 

“ Oh, why ? ” she remonstrated. 

“Because it is too hard a trail for girls.” 

“Nonsense! ” Janet responded, with unction. 

And Paul added, in an unwonted burst of 
chivalry, — 

“No fun doing, without the girls.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


255 


“Nice little boj!’^ Sidney nodded at him in 
token of approval. “What is the matter with 
the trail, Ronald ? ” 

“ Everything. It is a choice of evils. ” 

“Choose the less,’’ she advised. 

“ There is n’t any less. They are about even 
up, according to whether you prefer to break your 
neck or to drown.” 

Wade rose, strolled across the room and sat 
down on the arm of Paul’s chair. 

“ Why not try both ? ” he suggested. “ Then 
you would be in a position to judge.” 

Ronald set himself to explain. 

“There are two trails. One follows up the 
river, and you have to cross it six times. Theo- 
retically, you cross on the stones. Practically, 
if the water is a bit high, you have to wade. The 
water is cold, too.” 

“And you have to climb over perfectly huge 
boulders, and crawl through the tops of trees,” 
Janet added. 

“ Might I inquire ? ” Wade said politely. 

“Oh, I mean fallen ones, that have tipped 
down into the gorge,” Janet explained. “The 
time I went, I left half a stocking and the el- 
bow of my right sleeve in one tree, and the 
facing of my skirt in another. But it was 
such fun,” 


256 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Sounds like it, ” Paul observed. What ’s 
the other trail, Ronald ? ’’ 

“The other way, we drive to St. Ferr^ol and go 
down from the top. The trail drops for three hun- 
dred feet, steeper than the big slide at Bureau’s, 
and usually it is covered with an inch or two of 
dried pine needles. Really, the best way to do it 
is to take your courage in your lap, and sit down 
and slide.” 

“ How do we get up ? ” Sidney inquired. 

Ronald’s answer was alliterative. 

“By being boosted.” 

Judith shook her head. 

“ Thank you. I think mother will need me at 
home.” 

Paul remonstrated. 

“Oh, Judy, don’t flunk.” 

“Thank you,” she answered, with unwonted 
spirit ; “ but I have the promise of a fur coat, this 
winter. I ’d like to live to wear it.” 

And accordingly, two days later, only five 
people sat on the rocks beneath the fall of Jean 
le Rose. Four of the five people, however, were 
quite willing to admit that the place was worth 
the pilgrimage, although the pilgrimage had been 
accomplished at the expense of some wet feet 
and many scratches. P’tit was the fifth, and he 
looked upon the scene with indifferent eyes. The 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


257 


pool below Jean le Rose was an every-day matter 
to him, for it was his favourite fishing ground, 
and he was wont to wade in before breakfast and 
wade out again, an hour later, burdened with a 
string of trout which tugged at the muscles of his 
shoulder long before he reached home. Rarely, 
however, did P’tit bring any one in with him. 
Few people knew of the existence of the falls; 
of those few, almost none were willing to trust 
themselves to the trail. 

Only the custom of his remote babyhood could 
account for P’tit’s name. His sixtieth birthday 
was in the past ; his chin was tufted with a long 
gray beard. And yet, at heart, P’tit was still a 
boy. His small dark eyes twinkled with the rest- 
lessness of youth, his hand was as steady, his 
brain as keen as it had been, years before. Only 
his judgment and his woodcraft betrayed the 
ripeness of his years ; but he bore, with apparent 
nonchalance, the reputation of being the best 
guide of all that region round about. As a rule, 
he paid scant heed to the people who employed 
him; but the quartette now gathered around their 
lunch basket were the exception who had proved 
the rule. Caution and courage were a rare com- 
bination in a boy like Paul. Janet’s intrepid 
nerve was as grateful to P’tit as were the level 
head and steady foot of Sidney. As for Ronald, 
17 


258 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


P’tit had taken him to his own heart and hearth- 
stone, long before. And Jean le Rose was ac- 
counted the worst trail of that country. P’tit 
smiled contentedly to himself, as he punched the 
strong Canayenne tobacco into the bowl of his 
pipe, lighted it and clapped on the perforated tin 
cover. The trail out was always easier by far 
than the trail in. He regarded his work as being 
as good as done. His own lunch digested and his 
pipe smoked to the end, he could fall to work and 
fish to his heart’s content. 

From three hundred feet above their heads, 
Jean le Rose came sliding towards them over a 
sheer wall of rock. So smooth-worn was the edge 
of the rock, so sheer its fall that the narrow river 
stretched down to them in an unbroken ribbon of 
silver ; but the bottom of the ribbon was lost in a 
veil of silver spray which dashed upward high in 
air, forming mimic rainbows in the sun and then 
dropped back again over all the rocks beneath. 
On right hand and on left, the steep wooded 
slopes came to the very verge of the tiny river 
which, its tremendous leap once taken, went 
chattering away in and out through the ancient 
forest. Just at the base of the fall, the water 
splashed over a low cascade and dropped into a 
still, black pool deeper than any sounding-line, 
and peopled with huge and hungry trout. And, 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


259 


above the pool, the branches of the trees on either 
hand mingled to form one common shade. 

Under certain conditions, trouting becomes a 
bore. Paul faced that condition speedily. 

“ Oh, I say, confound the fellows ! he burst 
out at length. “ They won’t let me stop to bait 
up, even. That last one chewed a bare hook, and 
three more jumped for it and got left. P’tit, this 
is n’t sport; it ’s a fish market.” 

P’tit gave his accustomed grin. Whatever the 
words might mean, their intonation and the ges- 
ture which accompanied them were sufficiently 
explicit. 

“ Monsieur is weary ? ” he asked in French. 
“ Is it enough of fish that he has ? ” 

Parlez-vous qu^est-ce que c^est pourquoi mais 
om,” Paul answered glibly. “What is the dago 
saying, Ronald ? ” 

“ He merely inquired whether you were sick of 
the place and would like to move on,” Ronald 
explained. 

Paul made swift count. Then he looked at his 
watch. 

“I expected to fish here till about five o’clock. 
At that rate, I should have caught two hundred 
and fifty-seven and a half fishes. I have already 
caught thirty-one. They are good little fishes; 
but I really think I have about all I can eat.” 


260 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


‘‘Do you know,” Janet observed, from her perch 
on the rock above the pool ; “ the first summer I 
came here, I ate so many trout that I hate the 
sight of them now.” 

“ What becomes of those you catch ? ” Sidney 
asked. 

“ Either I throw them back, or else feed them 
to the cat,” Janet answered composedly. “I am 
sorry. It sounds wicked, I know; but it is the 
fault of the country, and my own loss. I am now 
in fear and terror of moving to a place where 
grape fruit and marshmallows grow wild in the 
fields.” 

“ And then ? ” Ronald asked idly. 

Janet clasped her hands. 

“ Then I shall cultivate an appetite for shredded 
wheat biscuits. Paul, what shall we do next ? ” 

“Observe the landscape.” 

“I can’t. It ’s all water. Besides, 1 am tired 
of sitting still.” 

Sidney yawned. 

“Do you know, Janet, I don’t wish to seem 
unappreciative ; but it does appear to me that the 
resources of the place are small. There is no 
room to walk about; according to Paul, there is 
no sport in this fishing; we ’ve eaten all the lunch, 
and there is a certain monotony in contemplating 
even the loveliest waterfall in all Canada.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


261 


Ronald buried his hands in the basket, fumbled 
about and drew out one banana and a stuffed egg. 

“Do eat those and keep quiet,” he begged. 
“We want a little rest.” 

“Ronald,” Sidney’s tone was scornful; “I 
really believe you are tired.” 

“And why not, Mamzelle Peekaboo? Haven’t 
we towed you and Janet across this river six 
mortal times, to say nothing of the extras when 
you slipped, going along the edge ? Do let us 
rest.” 

“It really is an awful trail,” Janet said thought- 
fully. “It seemed worse to me, to-day, than it 
did before.” 

Sidney sat up alertly. 

“ J anet ! Boys I Let ’s go home, the other way. ” 

“Too far,” Ronald objected languidly. 

But already J anet was in full tide of argument 
with P’tit. 

“He says it is n’t more than half as long a trail 
out, if we go up the mountain; and we can hire 
a buckboard at the top and drive home,” she re- 
ported. “I want some variety. Let ’s try it.” 

“And he knows the trail ? ” Sidney asked. 

“Of course. P’tit knows every inch of the 
ground in these mountains. Come, sit up, lazy 
boys! Which shall it be ? ” And, scrambling to 
her feet, she stood looking down at the two boys 


262 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


who were stretched out at full length on the rock 
below. 

“Leave it to P’tit. He knows, Ronald said 
indolently. 

But already P’tit, a little smile curving the 
extreme corners of his mouth, was stringing the 
fish on a forked stick and packing the plates and 
cups. As J anet had said, he knew every inch of 
the trail up the mountain, knew it in all its worst 
details. Never before had he attempted to lead 
a girl up the almost perpendicular slope; but 
never before had he seen girls like Janet and 
Sidney, and he knew that they could be trusted 
to reach the top. To P’tit’s mind, no greater 
glory could be theirs than the glory of having 
followed a trail never before trodden by feminine 
feet. He slung the great curved basket into its 
wonted place between his shoulders, gave a few 
crisp directions to Ronald and then, facing about, 
led the way past the foot of the fall. 

Half-way up the slope, J anet halted so abruptly 
that Paul, close behind, missed his footing and 
came down on all fours. 

“Do you know,” she said quite tranquilly; “I 
think I am three quarters dead.” 

“ Well, give us warning, when you get ready to 
die the other quarter,” Paul remonstrated, as he 
picked himself up again. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


263 


She shook her head, while she glanced at the 
path above her. 

“ It won’t be so very long,” she said whimsically. 

“ Sorry. Meanwhile, though, do keep your eye 
on the tail of P’tit’s coat. Tids is treading on 
my heels. Resolved by the resolution committee 
that your halt has lasted long enough.” 

At heart, Janet disagreed with him absolutely. 
All at once, the hardship of the trail appeared to 
her to be insurmountable. However, she pushed 
forward pluckily, though her teeth were tight shut 
and the top of her forehead felt strangely cold. 
Janet Leslie, under her demure exterior, had 
never been one to shrink at the minor obstacles, 
nor had she done so now. Up and up through the 
ragged old trees, the path mounted by almost 
upright stages, now winding this way or that to 
take advantage of the support gained by some 
jutting root, now rising sheer and straight for 
such a distance that only the strength of P’tit 
above and Paul beneath could force her to its top, 
now losing itself entirely among a moss-grown 
heap of boulders which could be mounted but 
slowly and upon the hands and knees. And root 
and earth and boulder were covered thick with 
rotting leaves, slippery as shifting sand and far 
less stable. And behind Paul was Sidney, totally 
new, that summer, to the ways of the mountain 


264 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


trail, but taking it all as a matter of course ; and 
behind Sidney was Ronald, and Ronald’s praise 
was always Janet’s richest reward. She gritted 
her teeth anew and struggled on, gaining a cer- 
tain courage, whenever P’tit faced about and she 
could look into his twinkling, kindly eyes. 

Once only he glanced down at her with some 
anxiety. 

“ It is not too hard for Mademoiselle ? ” he asked. 
Janet hesitated. Breath and courage and 
strength were ebbing fast; but she heard Ron- 
ald’s question from below, — 

“ Getting done up, Mamzelle Peekaboo ? ” 

Heard Sidney’s answer, breathless, but jovial, — 
“Not a bit of it.” 

And, in her turn, she answered P’tit sturdily, — 
“Not one bit. I am glad we tried it.” 

And P’tit, who never looked for hidden mean- 
ings, faced about and led the way upward. 

Fifty feet farther up, he turned sharply to the 
left and faced her again. 

“This is the last of the bad road,” he said, as 
he slipped the basket from his shoulders. “If 
Mademoiselle will give me her hand ? Now the 
other. Place your foot there. Then rest your 
other foot on the root at your left. It is well. 
Now spring upward, and you can reach the branch 
of the maple tree above. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


265 


Janet turned for an instant and glanced down 
at the trail which stretched in a zigzag line away 
from beneath her feet half-way to the foot of the 
fall. For one more instant, she shut her dizzy 
eyes. Then she pulled herself together, like the 
plucky little English girl that she was, gave one 
hand to P’tit, then the other, and felt herself lifted 
forward slowly and steadily. 

“Now, Mademoiselle!” 

P’tiPs words cracked across her consciousness 
like the report of a pistol. She let go his hand, 
sprang forward and shut her right hand over the 
thick, tough bough of the maple tree. She was 
conscious of drawing one sharp breath of relief; 
then the breath snapped itself in two for, at that 
moment, there also snapped itself in two the root 
on which her weight was resting. 

From his place below her, Konald had watched 
the whole manoeuvre with admiring eyes. He 
always had been proud of Janet; but never more 
so than at this moment when indomitable will 
and lithe young body had each of them shown 
their fibre. The next moment, pride vanished in 
abject terror, and, careless of his own footing, he 
dashed forward up the trail, white and with a 
world of fear in his dark eyes, but completely 
steady in nerve and brain. 

In reality, he was scarcely fifty feet in the rear; 


266 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


but the moments when his young sister hung there 
above the trail multiplied the fifty feet into in- 
finity. He made no outcry, nor did she. Both 
instinctively were husbanding their force to meet 
the final need. P’tit, on the upper level, was 
powerless to act. He could only retrace his steps 
by way of the bough to which Janet was clinging, 
and the bough was too slender to support their 
combined weight. Paul was no match, in phy- 
sique or woodcraft, for the emergency which faced 
them, and Ronald was left to meet it alone. It 
seemed to him that his progress up the trail was 
a matter of years, not of moments ; but at last he 
halted directly beneath his sister, only so far 
beneath. 

“Janet,” he said quietly; “if you hear and 
understand me, nod. Don’t try to speak.” 

She nodded once, and yet again. 

“ Good ! ” he answered. “ I am here, exactly 
under you. You know how strong I am, how — ” 
his breath caught — “how I used to catch you, 
when you were a little girl in grandfather’s barn. 
Let ’s try it again. When I say Three ! let go 
and drop straight down.” 

To his anxious, impatient mind, the phrases 
seemed endless, as they dropped deliberately from 
his tongue. Young as he was, however, he knew 
their need, knew how easily some involuntary 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


267 


struggle could throw his young sister outward, 
far past the chance of his reaching and holding 
her back from the fearful fall below. He glanced 
down, measured his distances with care, and 
braced his feet as firmly as he might against the 
shifting surface. Then he glanced up again to 
Janet clinging there, slight and tense and still. 
Then he spoke once more, and his voice was abso- 
lutely level. 

“ Steady, Janet. You ’re all right. One. Two. 
Three.” 

And Janet dropped, swift and straight, into the 
lifted arms below. Her girlish reasoning was 
simple, and it had defied all fear. Ronald had 
never failed her before. What reason was there 
to think that he would fail her now ? 

But it was left for Paul to disgrace himself and 
provide an outlet for the strained nerves of the 
others. Heedless of their jibes, he sat himself 
down beside the trail and shed salty tears of 
mingled terror and relief, while Janet, at his 
side, jeered mercilessly at his belated woe. 

“But, truly, weren’t you frightened, Janet?” 
Sidney asked her, when they were alone, that 
night. 

And Janet made unhesitating answer, — 

“No; not after I knew that Ronald was there.” 


268 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

D O you know,’’ Sidney observed, the next 
day, as they all sat on the bank of the 
river; “I think I am the lucky one.” 

“Don’t brag,” Paul warned her. 

And Ronald added, — 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“In our trips. Like the way Janet tried to kill 
herself, yesterday. Do you realize how lucky I 
am?” 

“What about the day in the hailstorm ? ” Wade 
inquired. 

“ That ruined you ; I was none the worse for it. 
Paul has fallen into the river twice; Ronald took 
the skin off his nose, coming up from Seven Falls, 
and Janet has had enough catastrophes to bank- 
rupt an accident insurance company.” 

Janet stitched away demurely. For the hour, 
she had revived her interest in her long-neglected 
hemming. There had been, earlier in the sum- 
mer, a theory that she was assisting in the manu- 
facture of her sister’s wedding frills; but the 
theory had passed into oblivion, together with 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


269 


the epoch when she had sat on the river bank 
and compared her impressions of life with Judith 
Addison. Since then, Paul had usurped the 
prominent place upon her horizon, and, as a rule, 
her fingers had been too rough and scratched by- 
contact with things of the forest to be wholly use- 
ful in folding hems on grass linen and plying a 
number eleven needle. To-day, however, even 
the cool galleries had succumbed to the heat of 
dogdays, and there had been a general move to 
the river bank where they were spending a lan- 
guid morning over their work, while Ronald read 
aloud to them by fits and starts, and Paul filled 
in all the pauses by his idle talk. 

“You wouldn’t think, to look at her now,” he 
observed; “that Janet had so much originality. 
You don’t expect that kind of thing from the 
English girls, anyhow. But Janet really has 
contrived to get up a whole dozen new sensations. 
Tiddles, I advise you to look out for the inter- 
national laurels.” 

Sidney glanced up from the birch-bark basket 
which she was embroidering with long strands of 
sweet grass. 

“No use, Paul; I’m not original. I did my 
best in the hail ; but it all fell through, as far as 
I was concerned.” 

“ Fell through the hole between your neck and 


270 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


your collar, you mean. That was n’t half bad. 
Now give us something else.” 

Janet giggled, in abrupt, but irrepressible mirth. 

“Ask Judith about the shower, Tuesday after- 
noon,” she advised. 

Paul rolled over to face his sister, lost his 
balance and landed on his feet among the rocks 
below. 

“ Oh, I say, that was my party ! ” he said, as he 
clambered back to the grass above. “ Why did n’t 
somebody tell me not to go too near the edge ? 
What about the shower, Judith?” 

But Judith was reticent. 

“Nothing; only it rained in a little,” she said 
evasively. 

Janet cast aside her hemming. 

“Oh, go on and tell,” she urged. 

“ But there ’s nothing to tell. ” 

“I should rather say there was, then. I was 
up there, when it began to rain.” Janet turned 
herself about, in order to include her entire audi- 
ence. “You know how it swept in from the south, 
all in a minute. Have you seen the windows of 
Judith’s room? No? Well, they are perfectly 
lovely — in fine weather. When it storms ! One 
is filled up with sofa pillows, and the other is just 
like a shop window, with all sorts of little things 
put out in rows.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


271 


“What sort of little things, Janet?” Duncan 
Ogilvie asked, in some amusement. 

Janet shrugged her thin little shoulders. 

“ I ’m not an American ; I don’t begin to know 
what they all are: scissors and knives and files 
and brushes and pots and pans.” 

“Oh, Janet, there are n’t any pans,” Judith re- 
monstrated. 

“Yes; there are two. You put pins in one, and 
the other seems to be just for ornament. I 
don’t wonder; it is pretty enough. Still, I 
should hate to have to dust them all and keep 
them scoured.” 

But Ronald brought her back from her digres- 
sion. 

“ And the storm ? ” he asked. 

Janet laughed. Then she picked up her sewing 
once more. 

“Ask Judith,” she said. “We both of us went 
to work as fast as we could. But, before we could 
get the things out of the way a*nd the windows 
shut, everything was soaked. The pots and pans 
were n’t so bad ; but the pillows all ran together, 
the colours of them, 1 mean, and, besides, we 
threw them on the bed, and now the white catalun 
looks like a parody on the Union Jack.” 

“What do you think Bungay said about the 
Union Jack, last week ? ” Judith asked abruptly. 


272 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ I heard him telling Ruth that it was exactly like 
the thing his mamma made toast on.’’ 

But Janet refused to be turned aside from her 
subject. 

“If it does, then your bed looks like the 
gridiron they cooked Saint Lawrence on,” she 
responded. 

“ What do they do in the winter, when they 
can’t have their windows open ? ” Sidney asked. 
“My windows are covered over with green and 
yellow wall paper, and my room is pitchy ^^ark, 
when it storms.” 

“ They move down to the living-room, beds and 
all,” Janet answered. “It saves coals, and it is 
much more sociable. Besides — What do you 
want, Ronald ? ” 

“To get a word in, edgewise.” 

“ Well, why not ? ” 

“ Because, when I was a little chap, I was taught 
not to interrupt,” he replied gravely. 

“Well, now is your chance. Take it.” 

Ronald tossed aside his book, and clasped his 
hands at the back of his head. 

“Do you realize, my friends, that to-day is the 
twenty-fifth of August ? ” he asked. 

“ What of it ? ” 

“ Merely that Duncan has to go south, on the 
first.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


273 


“ Really ? How horrid ! ” Sidney responded, 
with unexpected fervour. 

“ That ’s where you are telling the truth, Mam- 
zelle Peekaboo. If I really must have an extra 
brother, I ’m glad Duncan is elect to be it. Sure 
you can’t stay for another week, Duncan ? ” 

‘‘ Sure. I wish I could. ” 

Ronald pondered for a moment. 

‘‘There are any amount of things you haven’t 
done,” he said then; “things it is a shame for 
you not to do. Let ’s make some plans. Keep 
still, Freda. You have had Duncan to yourself 
quite long enough. It is our turn now, and you 
must come and make merry with us.” 

“What shall we do?” Janet asked, as, once 
more dropping her work, she rose, crossed the 
grass and curled herself up at Ronald’s elbow. 

“All the best things. Lei; me see, six days. 
Ste. Anne’s Falls, to-morrow. Freda can drive 
up with the lunch and send back the buckboard. 
Then we must take him to Sept Chutes; he 
has n’t seen it. For a climax, we ’ll do Cap 
Tourmente. ” 

Janet clasped her hands. 

“ Oh, Ronald, yes ! I did it, last year, and it is 
superb. You can see for miles and miles and 
miles down the river.” 

“And the tj^ail ? ” Wade asked. 

18 


274 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


She made a little gesture of scorn. 

“I ’m not afraid.” 

“So I judge, from what I heard. Still,” Wade 
spoke with sudden hearty conviction ; “ we ’ve had 
such a good summer here that I ’d like it to end 
without any tragedies.” 

From her place at his side, Sidney looked up at 
him keenly. 

“Have you really enjoyed it, Wade?” she 
asked, under cover of the general discussion of 
the plans. 

And there was no cloud of reservation in his 
eyes, as they met her own, while he answered, — 

“Yes, Sidney, thanks to you.” 

“And Ronald,” she supplemented, for she had 
seen the friendship which, in those later days, 
had been growing up between Wade and the man 
so much his junior. 

Wade’s mind swept backward over the summer 
weeks; his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the 
happy, handsome face on the opposite side of the 
group. Then he assented, — 

“Yes, Tiddles, and Ronald, too. But, after 
all — ” 

“Well ? ” she prompted him. 

Then she looked up in surprise at his next 
words, so unlike his usual reserved self. 

“ After all, my good times began on the night 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


275 


you came. Before that, I was hating most things, 
myself included. Since then, you ’ve stirred me 
up to take a new grip on life.” 

“I don’t see how,” she said slowly. 

Wade sat silent for a moment, as if gravely 
considering herself and her words. Then he 
answered quite as slowly, — 

“Don’t you, Sidney? I do.” 

The next afternoon, he was still considering 
her. The result of his consideration was that, 
without Sidney Stayre, his summer would have 
been an entirely different matter. It had been 
Sidney who had routed him out of his hammock 
and his lethargy. She had coaxed him here and 
dragged him there. She had convinced him that 
he was a good deal stronger than he had supposed, 
and she had cajoled him into the belief that there 
need to be no blank hours, even in the life of a 
man abruptly ordered into invalidism. She had 
teased him and lectured him and bullied him by 
turns; but, throughout all the turns, she had 
been his loyal comrade, offering a deaf ear to 
the invitations of the others for the mere sake 
of stopping at home with a dull old fellow 
like himself. Ronald was a good fellow, loyal 
and sensible and manly. However, after all, 
it was Sidney — 

“Wade I 


276 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


He roused himself, bent forward and looked 
down over the gallery rail. Ronald stood below 
and, as he lifted his head to speak, his face was 
pearly white, save for the blue ring about the 
mouth. Wade caught his breath, and it seemed 
to him he could feel his blood rush back again 
to his heart; but he forced himself to speak 
quietly. 

“ What has happened ? ” 

In his turn, Ronald held himself steady, for he 
had need of Wade, yet he dreaded the effect on 
him of any sudden shock. 

“ One of the girls has slipped and had a little 
fall. Can you — ? ” 

‘‘Is it Sidney? ’’ Wade asked abruptly, and, as 
Ronald nodded brief assent, neither man be- 
thought himself that, of decorous right, Wade’s 
first anxiety should have been for Judith, his 
sister. 

“ Is it bad ? ” he asked again, with equal 
abruptness. 

“No; at least, we can’t tell. If you can get a 
horse and drive up to the end of the wagon road, 
Duncan and Paul will help her out. You know 
the road ? Perhaps P’tit is here and can go with 
you.” 

“ Why not you ? ” 

Ronald shook his head. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


277 


“I want the doctor. If I can’t find Poulin, I 
shall have to telephone up to town.” 

‘‘How did it happen ? ” 

“ She was walking on the logs at the edge, and 
one of them turned and let her down on the stones. 
It was a rough fall, and it knocked her up a bit ; 
but it may not be anything serious. Freda wanted 
me to come down. You ’ll go up ? ” 

“At once.” And Wade, by this time at the 
foot of the steps, hurried away in the direction 
of the nearest buckboard. 

The old horse heaved a sigh of remonstrant 
curiosity, as he turned off the St. Joachim road, 
scrambled up the steep, sandy hill and came into 
the level wagon trail beneath the arching trees. 
They were an impatient race, those Americans, 
and a bit selfish withal. Never in his twenty-six 
years of leisurely life had he been dragged from 
his stall in the midst of dinner, and forced to 
gallop up such a hill as the one leading to Ste. 
Anne’s Falls. And, above the clatter of the aged 
buckboard, he could hear the voice of his driver, 
urging him forward, and then talking to himself 
in a monotonous murmur. It was a French Cana- 
dian horse and understood no English. Even had 
he been a linguist, however, he might not have 
known that Wade was repeating aloud to himself 
scraps of legal lore, not for the sake of review; 


278 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


but merely in order to steady himself and force 
his mind from the trouble which might be await- 
ing him. 

However, it was Sidney herself who was await- 
ing him. Just at the point where the wagon road 
ended in the almost impassable trail which led to 
the head of the falls, she was sitting on a little 
heap of coats and resting against one of Duncan 
Ogilvie’s broad shoulders. Her eyes were blazing, 
her cheeks bright scarlet; but she smiled bravely 
up into the anxious eyes of her cousin who, without 
waiting for the old horse to come to a halt, leaped 
out over the wheel and hurried forward to her side. 

“ Don’t worry, Wade.” She laughed a little ner- 
vously. “ I have only been trying to outdo you all 
in originality.” 

Man-like in such an emergency, he suddenly 
found himself tongue-tied. 

“I say, I hope you aren’t hurt,” he blurted out 
at length ; but his eyes said the rest. 

“Not very much.” In spite of herself, how- 
ever, there came a falling cadence to the phrase. 
“I think, though, I ’d better be going home.” 

Quite gently Duncan Ogilvie moved away his 
supporting shoulder, rose and offered her his two 
hands. She swayed backward a little. Then she 
pressed her lips together and, reaching upward, 
took his hands. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


279 


“Now,” he said quietly. “Don’t hurry, and 
let me do all the lifting.” 

And Wade, as he watched him and marvelled 
at his skill, felt maddened by a sense of his own 
futility. It had been left to Ronald to go for 
help; it was for Duncan to lift his cousin, lift her 
with a strength and gentleness which well-nigh 
defied all pain. And he, Wade Winthrop, the 
one who cared for her more than all the rest, 
could find his sole utility in goading a shambling 
old horse up a sandy hill, and then standing aside 
to look on, while the others did all the work. 

And Sidney ? He knew she was in bitter, rack- 
ing pain, knew it from the colour in her cheeks 
and from the way, every now and then, the colour 
faded and she swayed slightly to one side, as if in 
deadly faintness. And yet no moan escaped her; 
her lips never lost their plucky smile. And he, 
under similar conditions, had lain in a hammock 
and glowered out upon the world. 

“ Come, Wade. Shall we start ? ” 

He pulled himself together, mounted his seat 
and took up the reins. Slowly and with infinite 
joltings, the buckboard started down the trail, 
followed at a little distance by the silent group 
whom they had left behind. Once Wade brought 
the old horse to a standstill, while he adjusted 
the rug to his liking, and then quietly passed his 


280 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


arm around the girl’s shoulders and held her in a 
steady, reassuring grasp. Then he started the 
old horse once more and, almost in silence, they 
went jogging and jolting down the trail towards 
home. 

Ronald met them at the gate, and the doctor 
was by his side. Both men were smiling alertly, 
as they came forward to help Sidney from the 
buckboard; but Wade, looking down into their 
eyes, took their smiles exactly as he had taken 
the cheery voice of the doctors who had pro- 
nounced his own doom, three months before. 
Then, while he watched Ronald’s strong young 
arms almost carrying the girl into the house, the 
sense of his own futility came back upon him in 
full measure. What mattered his increasing 
strength, if it were powerless to serve him better 
than this ? He sat down heavily in his steamer 
chair and waited, in a sort of apathy, for news 
from within the house. 

It came at last, and it came by way of Ronald. 
It was wholly unsatisfactory. There had been 
the fall, the jar to the spine, the shock to the 
nervous system. The doctor had given her an 
opiate, and would make a second examination, 
the next day. Meanwhile — 

But Wade rose, looked vaguely into Ronald’s 
anxious face, and, turning on his heel, went away 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


281 


down the street. On the threshold of the room 
beneath the post-office, he stopped and spoke. 
“Madame,” he said briefly; “the clouds have 

gathered, and I have come here to make my 
)> 


moan. 


282 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 

W ELL ? ’’ Janet asked impatiently, next 
day. 

Paul came heavily up the steps, heavily sat 
down on the gallery rail. 

“I don’t know.” 

“ But the doctor has just gone.” 

“He doesn’t know.” 

Janet’s heels struck the floor with a sounding 
click. 

“ Who does?” 

“ Mr. Ogilvie is going up to town, at ten. ” 

“ What for ? ” 

“ To bring a doctor back with him. This man 
wants advice.” 

“Does he think it is so bad ? ” 

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know. Nobody 
knows anything, apparently, beyond the mere 
fact that Tiddles sat down too hard.” 

“How is she?” 

Paul summed up the case in two words. 
“Confounded plucky.” 

“You ’ve seen her ? ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


283 


Turning, he looked at Janet in defiant scorn. 

“Of course. She asked to have me come up.’’ 

“ How did she look ? ” 

“ Blasted uncomfortable ; but she would n’t 
admit it. I tell you what, Janet, we’re in an 
awful state, over at our house. Mother is worried 
to pieces over Tiddles; Wade is walking the 
house and raging at us for letting her go on the 
logs in the first place, and saying that she never 
would have thought of doing it, if we had n’t 
raced, that day. Judith has cried herself into a 
chronic cold in the head.” 

Janet sniffed scornfully. 

“Judith doesn’t care the least bit for Sidney. 
I don’t see what she should cry for.” 

“Probably because she thinks it is the decent 
thing to do. But you can’t imagine the mess we 
all are in ; it is simply awful. ” And Paul subsided 
into a gloomy silence. 

Janet roused him. It fretted her optimism to 
see her boon comrade, usually so jovial, reduced 
to this mood of utter despair. 

“Does Wade really blame us ? ” she asked. 

“ He says we put the idea into her head. Ap- 
parently he blames everybody, though, himself 
included. He says, if he hadn’t been ill, we 
never would have come here, in the first place.” 

“ ‘ If I had a baby, and it fell into the fire, ’ and 


284 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


SO forth, ” J anet quoted. “ Is there anything I can 
do, Paul ? ’’ 

He shook his head. 

“ There ’s nothing for a fellow to do ; that ’s the 
worst of it. Mr. Ogilvie and your sister are the 
only ones who seem to be of any sort of use. He 
is going up to town; she has walked off some- 
where with Bungay and Ruth. Now, if you could 
only walk off with Judith and give her a piece of 
your mind, and Ronald would tackle Wade, there 
would be some sense in the situation.” 

Janet rose with sudden decision. 

“ I think I T1 tackle you, as you call it, instead.” 

“I don’t need any tackling. I ’m neither walk- 
ing the house nor boo -booing in my room.” 

“No; but you look as if you’d lost your last 
friend.” 

“My best one,” he corrected her, in a sudden 
outburst of woe. 

But Janet rebelled. 

“Nonsense, Paul! Sidney isn’t killed yet. 
Besides, what about me ? ” 

And Paul made steady answer, — 

“You’re only second-best, Janet. I like you 
better than any other girl I ’ve ever known, except 
Tiddles; but I like Tiddles best.” 

“Well, you ought to,” she answered, in the 
matter-of-fact fashion she assumed at times. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


285 


“We have been splendid chums, Paul; but Sid- 
ney is your cousin, and — ” 

But Paul demurred. 

“It’s not the being my cousin; it’s just Pid- 
dles, herself.” 

And Wade, as he tramped the floor of the liv- 
ing-room at home, was saying the same thing to 
himself, saying it over and over again. His one 
consolation lay in the fact that it had not needed 
Sidney’s accident to teach him how much he cared 
for her. As he had told her, only two days be- 
fore, her coming to the cottage had made over his 
life for him. Up to that time, he had felt no 
especial interest in any of the Stayre family. 
True, they were his cousins. When he remem- 
bered them at all, he thought of them with that 
perfunctory regard which is death to any real 
affection. They were entirely outside of his life 
and, for all he cared, they might remain so until 
the end of time. His sole connection with the 
family consisted in a dutiful note of thanks to his 
aunt, once a year, for the Christmas gift which, 
quite obviously, she sent to him for the sake of 
pleasing his mother. As for Sidney, he had re- 
garded her as a child, too remote from his years 
to have any possible connection with his own 
interests. And then, one night, she had swept 
in upon them and changed all that so completely 


286 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


that now, looking backward, he found it hard to 
realize his former point of view. 

And, now that he had come to count upon her 
absolutely, there she was on her back in his 
mother’s room, and there she might be for a 
wholly indefinite period! Long before she had 
sent for Paul, she had wanted Wade to come up. 
He had gone, eagerly, gladly. When he had 
come in sight of her, he had turned dumb, with 
the conscious futility of most men in the presence 
of illness, and, as soon as possible, he had made 
his escape from the sight of her bright, brave 
smile. And now once again there crossed his 
mind the contrast between them. He, faced with 
illness, but free from pain, had lain still in a 
hammock and sulked with himself. Sidney, with 
pain added to possible danger of lasting invalid- 
ism, had met him with a smile and railed aloud 
at his sombre face. Then, as Judith came into 
the room, he vented his own self-disgust by turn- 
ing upon her and asking her what made her nose 
so red. 

And Judith made answer, in a phrase which 
seemed to him slightly inadequate to his mood, — 

“Oh, Wade! How can you ? ” 

Nevertheless, between her sniffings, he suc- 
ceeded in extorting from her the story of the 
accident: how Sidney had been walking with 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


287 


Janet on the logs in the shallow edge of the 
river; how one of the logs had rolled over sud- 
denly; how Sidney had fallen sharply upon the 
stones; how the instant of faintness had been fol- 
lowed by an instant of hysteria ; how she swiftly 
had controlled herself and made light of the 
pain, as Ronald had sprung forward to lift her 
in his arms and carry her to the grassy bank 
above them. 

Judith said nothing of herself or of Janet, and 
it was not until days afterward that Wade heard 
from Duncan Ogilvie of the quiet efficiency which 
both the girls had shown in the face of the first 
real crisis of their lives. Judith’s past steadiness 
made full amends, to his mind, for her present 
futile woe, and he admitted to himself, as he 
listened to his friend’s account of the scene, that 
his young sister had shown herself less useless 
than he would have supposed. 

And, meanwhile, Judith herself was telling 
him the rest, with full and lugubrious detail. 
There had been a half hour of waiting on the 
bank, while they determined what to do. Then 
together Ronald and Duncan had lifted the girl in 
their locked arms and carried her out over the 
rough footpath to the end of the wagon road. 
From there, Ronald had gone dashing homeward 
for Wade and for the doctor, and the others had 


288 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


given themselves up to an apparently endless 
interval of waiting. 

Just such another apparently endless interval 
of waiting was before them now. The village 
doctor frankly had confessed himself baffled by 
the question. It might be that there was serious 
injury; it might be that the girl was suffering 
merely from the nervous shock and the inevitable 
pain of such a blow. In any event, he wished 
council, and that soon. Duncan Ogilvie had gone 
up to the city in search of a doctor. It was surer 
to go in person. He would bring some one out 
with him ; if not the best, then the next best man 
that was available. However, it would be late 
afternoon before they could come down. The 
carpet of the living-room and the spring of 
Wade’s watchcase both suffered acutely, during 
the interval. It was a relief when Ronald’s anxious 
face appeared in the open doorway. At least, one 
could talk over the chances with Ronald, without 
his sniffing and wiping his eyes at every pause. 
Unfortunately, however, Ronald’s arrival was the 
signal for the return of Judith, and Wade impa- 
tiently left the house and sought Madame. 

“Your face is grave, my son, and your eyes look 
heavy and full of sorrow,” she said, as she nodded 
invitingly towards the accustomed chair. 

“ Perhaps, ” he admitted. “ But there is reason. ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


289 


Madame shook her head. She had left the 
loom, this morning, and, seated hy the open front 
window, she was winding her bobbins in prepara- 
tion for the next day’s weaving. 

“It may be so. It is always hard to see a 
friend in pain,” she assented. “It is as the 
knots in my web. Cover them as I will, they 
yet are bound to show; but still I am bound to 
cover them. It is so with the pain. One must 
take it with a smile.” 

“When it is one’s own,” Wade said gloomily. 

“Truly, yes. But even more when it is the 
pain of another. Tell me, my son, when you too 
looked upon life with the eyes full of sorrow 
which, I trust, is gone forever, was it a help to 
you that your friends also should be sad ? But 
no. You tell me that your little cousin brought 
you the sunshine, and that the sunshine in its 
turn brought you the strength. Is it not so ? ” 

Wade merely nodded, as he sat watching her 
busy hands. Madame nodded back at him cheerily. 

“ Then, some courage, my son ! It is no help to 
your cousin’s pain that you pass all the day with 
the face of one with an ache in the teeth. Her 
face perhaps is sorrowful — ” 

But Wade interrupted. 

“Not my cousin, Madame. Her courage is 
good, her bravery better than my own.” 

19 


290 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Madame looked at him keenly. 

“ Then why not you ? ’’ 

“Because,” Wade blurted out desperately; “be- 
cause I love the child so much that I hate seeing 
her in such pain.” 

“Perhaps you have seen her? ” Madame asked. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“ And did you also carry this sad face to her, 
to add its discomfort to her pain ? ” 

“I am afraid I did.” 

Madame shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. 

“ Fi, then, my son ! I thought better things of 
you than that. A long face never helps the saddest 
hour. In my own country fashion, I have long 
since named your cousin Mademoiselle Sunshine. 
Is it in this way that you show her influence ? 
But no. It would be unworthy of all your long 
days together.” 

“But it is not that I am crying for nothing, 
Madame.” 

“ Perhaps. But do not cry at all. Mademoiselle 
is always laughing, with you, at you, at herself. 
I thought you had learned the lesson also. It is 
a lesson we all must learn.” 

Wade looked up and met her kind old eyes 
steadily. 

“I know, Madame. I have tried to learn it; 
but it is not always easy.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


291 


Madame dropped her last bobbin into the basket 
on the floor at her side. 

“I know, my son. You have made a brave 
effort. Over my loom, I have watched you. But 
the summer has not been too sorrowful. You and 
your cousin have had many gay hours together.’’ 

‘^It is true, Madame.” 

“And you will have many more.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“It is not 'perhaps. It also is true. I have 
seen the doctor, myself. He came for his mail, 
but an hour ago ; I have spoken to him long at 
the window.” 

“And ? ” Wade said interrogatively. 

“And your cousin will soon be strong again.” 

“But the doctor said he does not know,” Wade 
objected. 

“But yes, he tells the truth. He does not 
know, for he is young. Myself, I am old, and I 
know. He has told me of the fall, of the pain 
and of the bruises. I have seen many a fall like 
that. Sometimes they are very grave and bring 
much trouble. When the pain is as the pain of 
your cousin, the trouble is never so long. I am no 
doctor, myself. I am only an old woman, with 
years and with keen sight; but I tell you truly. 
It will be only for a short time that your cousin 
is ill.” Then, rising, she stood beside him and 


292 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


smiled down into his anxious face. “Did I not 
tell you also of yourself, that you too were grow- 
ing stronger, towards the better health ? And is 
it not true, as I said ? Perhaps Madame is no 
doctor; but she knows what she knows; and her 
knowledge is true. Now come to the garden that 
I may cut the flowers for your cousin. You will 
take them to her with the sure word of Madame 
that it will not be long before she is cutting them 
for herself.” 

And Wade, as he rose and followed his hostess 
out into the garden, told himself that all the sun- 
shine in the world was not in that bright little 
enclosure, nor yet in the presence of his blithe 
young cousin. Madame, too, albeit old and 
wrinkled and bowed with years of hard work, 
yet carried her own share, and, moreover, she 
divided it freely among all with whom she came 
in contact. 

Madame finished her bouquet and gave it into 
Wade’s hands. Then, with renewed courage, he 
went home to think the matter over. Viewed 
in the light of Madame’s words, the truth was 
simple. Sidney had given him largely of her 
summer. His own summer he had wasted com- 
pletely. He had not even learned from her the 
trick of meeting jovially whatever came within 
his way. He frowned at himself. Then he 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


293 


squared his shoulders. It was not too late, even 
now. Law forbidden, he would take the next 
best thing. Girl though she was, he was con- 
scious of a sudden longing to prove to his cousin 
that her efforts had not been all in vain. At 
least, he would make the attempt. 

Late that same afternoon, Wade was inclined 
to place the town doctor in the same class with 
Madame. He was a dark, fat little Frenchman 
whose owl-like spectacles turned him to the like- 
ness of a figure from a Christmas pantomime. 
Nevertheless, in Wade’s eyes, he was altogether 
glorious and benignant, as he delivered himself 
of his final verdict. 

“One week in bed; one week of keeping still 
on the gallery, unless one of these young gallants 
shall wish to take her for a brief drive; one week 
of gentle exercise, and then Mademoiselle may 
climb Cap Tourmente with the best of them.” 

“And you are sure there is no lasting harm 
done ? ” Wade demanded, a bit too sternly for the 
little doctor’s liking. 

“ Sure ? Myself ? I do not speak, unless I am 
sure,” he answered, with some testiness. 

“Forgive me,” Wade said hastily. “I had no 
idea of being rude. Monsieur. It is only that I 
myself know what it is to be invalided, and I 
dreaded it for my young cousin.” 

r 


294 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


The little doctor threw back his head, and peered 
up into Wade’s grave face. 

“Monsieur does not look an invalid,” he said 
then. 

“ I am better than when I came here. ” 

“ That is well. It is, perhaps, the nerves ? ” 
the little doctor suggested courteously. 

Wade hesitated. Then he yielded to a sudden, 
inexplicable liking for the brisk little man who 
somehow reminded him of a chubby English 
sparrow. 

“No; it is only that they had fear for my 
lungs,” he replied, still in the French in which 
all their talk had been made. 

The little doctor pursed up his lips. 

“Ah, it is a strange thing, those lungs. One 
can never tell about them. If people have them 
here, they die ; yet they come from afar and are 
cured. For me, I know less of them than of some 
other things. You have, in the United States, 
one great doctor. Monsieur Com — Crom — ” He 
stumbled over the unfamiliar name. 

“Cromwell ? ” Duncan Ogilvie suggested. 

Instantly the little doctor faced about with a 
smile. 

“Yes. It is he. He is to come to the Chateau, 
on the tenth. Why does not Monsieur go there 
to see him ? Later, he is to be my guest. I can 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


295 


perhaps arrange the matter, if Monsieur wishes. 
And,’’ he turned back to Wade, with the manner 
of one offering a final argument; “by that day. 
Mademoiselle will be able to return to me in my 
office the visit I have made her here..” And, with 
a crisp little nod, he left them alone. 

“Well ? ” Duncan Ogilvie said, at length. 

And Wade gave a nod, crisp and curt as the 
doctor’s had been. 

“By Jove, I ’ll try it. Dune. Then, if he gives 
me a fighting chance, I ’ll go to work on a new 
line and make a record in something.” And, 
turning, he went away to his room, whistling 
softly to himself as he went. Now that his 
cousin was out of all danger, he suddenly realized 
that his courage was fit to spur him onward to 
the goal which vaguely, in these later days of 
summer, had been placing itself before his eyes. 
And his courage, he was well aware, was chiefly 
due to his energetic, loyal young cousin. 


296 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


CHAPTER TWENTY 

S H-H-H-H-H ! ” Ruth hissed portentously. 

“ I will not hish, too. 

“You must. Own mother said Sidney mustn’t 
be asturbed. ” 

“ Sidney is my sister, and I ’ll disturb her, if I 
want to.” 

“ Then own mother will spank you. ” 

Bungay’s tongue came into view, waving like a 
battle flag. 

“She dassent. She ain’t my own mother.” 
“Don’t care,” Ruth said conclusively. “She 
knows how to spank, just the same.” 

“ How many times have you ever been spanked ?” 
Bungay’s tone suggested the methods of scientific 
investigation. 

“ Let ’s see. There was the time Ruth took all 
the grapes, and the time Ruth ate the sugar pills, 
and the time Ruth put own old paper dolls’ clothes 
down the nursery register. That ’s three.” 

“Huh! I’ve been spanked lots more times 
than that,” Bungay observed with scorn. 

“What for?” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


297 


“I doii^t amember now.’’ 

Ruth taunted him. 

“It ’s ’cause you ’re ashamed to tell.” 

“It is not. I would n’t tell you, anyhow.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“’Cause you’re a girl.” 

Ruth made a face at him. 

“Own Ronald doesn’t like little boys,” she 
remarked. 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“Ruth asked him if he did n’t like little girls 
best, and he said he did.” 

Bungay suddenly put on his cloak of righteous- 
ness. 

“If I should say things like that to Jumbo, 
then I ’d be so ashamed I could n’t eat any din- 
ner,” he said severely. 

Ruth sniffed with disdain. 

“You ’d always eat some dinner,” she retorted. 
“You’re an awful pig. You had three helps at 
breakfast. ” 

“ ’Spos’n’ I did ? ” 

“Then there was n’t enough for Ruth.” 

Bungay became prudent and changed the sub- 
ject. 

“ I say, let ’s play. ” 

“ What ’ll we play ? ” 

Bungay pondered. 


298 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Let ’s play Sidney and the logs,” he suggested 
at length. 

“Ruth doesn’t know how to play that,” she 
objected. 

“It’s easy. You be Sidney, and I’ll be the 
log. I ’ll roll over, and you sit down hard on the 
floor, and then you ’ll be put to bed. Bymeby, 
I’ll be the doctor and come to see you.” 

“Ruth does n’t think that ’s any game.” 

“It is, if you sit down bang hard,” Bungay 
argued. “You try it and see.” 

“Ruth doesn’t like to sit down bang. It 
hurts,” she protested. 

“’Course it does. That ’s the fun.” 

“ It is not fun, too, Bungay Stayre. Ruth won’t 
do that. ” 

“ Then do something else. ” 

“ What ? ” 

“I d’ know. Oh, I’ll tell you! Jumbo shall 
sing you a song.” 

“He ’ll asturb Sidney and wake her up.” 

“No; he ’ll sing soft.” 

“He can’t. Nelephants always bellow.” 

“It ain’t. They’re bulls,” Bungay corrected 
her. “Now you lis — Le’ go my mouth, Ruth 
Addison! ” 

“Then sh-h-h-h-h-h ! ” 

“ I won’t hish, I tell you. ” 


ON THE ST LAWRENCE 


299 


Ruth burst into a wail of mingled rage and 
pain. ^ 

‘‘ Oh, Bungay Stayre, you ’re a bad, bad, bad 
boy! You bited own finger.” 

‘‘Glad of it.” 

“Ruth will pull hair hard,” she threatened. 

However, Bungay scored a point. 

“You can’t get hold; it’s too short.” 

Ruth flew at him with outstretched hands. 
There was a shriek, a slap, a double howl, then 
a voice from the room within, — 

“ Children ! What are you doing ? ” 

Bungay and Ruth fell apart and stared at each 
other with terrified eyes. Ruth was the first to 
find her voice. 

“There now! Ruth said you’d asturb Sid- 
ney.” 

“You did it, your own self. Sidney is my 
sister and I never disturb her, so there now ! ” 

“But Ruth heard you. You made a big noise, 
and she said ‘Children 1 ’ ” 

“Well, children is you, too. Besides, she 
wasn’t asleep.” 

“ She was, too. ” 

“ How do you know ? ” Bungay demanded. 
“You can’t see people through a house wall.” 

“Ruth heard her snore two snores. Now let’s ' 
go to the barn and play tea party.” 


300 


SIDNEY: HER SmiMER 


“Tea parties don’t be in barns.” 

This time, Ruth was triumphant, according to 
the ways of woman. 

“Own tea party is in barn, if Ruth says so.” 

But again the voice came from the inner room. 

“ I ’m not asleep, children. Come in and talk 
to me. ” 

However, Ruth’s mind was fixed upon her 
party. 

“ Own mother said no,” she responded promptly. 

“Auntie Jack won’t care.” 

“Ruth minds own mother.” 

“’Cause she ’ll spank you, if you don’t,” Bun- 
gay interpolated. 

“ So does yours. ” 

Bungay dismissed truth. 

“No; she doesn’t, too. The cook is the 
spanker at our house.” 

And Ruth made swift answer, — 

“Ruth wishes she was here, then.” 

But Sidney called, for the third time. 

“Come, children. Come in here.” 

Bungay’s head poked itself through the open 
window of the room where Sidney lay on the bed, 
resting from a drive with Ronald. 

“I’m coming. Jumbo’s coming, too, and I’ll 
tell you both a story.” 

Ruth’s head battered against that of Bungay. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


301 


“ Ruth ’s coming, too, right through window of 
own mother’s room.” 

Bungay arrested her action by catching her by 
the heels and jerking them backwards. Then, 
Jumbo in hand, he squirmed in through the win- 
dow, lost his balance and dropped, with a thud, 
to the floor. Ruth came on top of him; but he 
pried himself out from under her fat little body, 
rushed forward and took the most advantageous 
corner of the bed. 

“ I ’m going to tell the story now, ” he began 
breathlessly, lest Ruth should anticipate him in 
getting command of the floor. “ Once there was 
a boy, and he had a fairy godmother, and she 
came to baptise him. All the people came, his 
grandpapa and his grandmamma and his uncles 
and his aunts and his cousins and all their 
cousins. Every one of them brought him a 
present.” 

‘‘ What did they bring ? ” Ruth demanded, from 
her seat astride the footboard. 

“Oh, guns and candy and paper soldiers and 
rubber boots and bonbons with snapper caps in 
them and rowboats and — and things. And he 
said ‘ thank you ’ to everybody. And then the 
fairy godmother came. She was awful homely, 
and she did n’t have a thing but just a whole lot 
of bottles. And she uncorked one and poured 


302 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


something on the boy and told people that was 
beauty, so he should be awful pretty, and she 
uncorked another and it was knowing lots of 
things, and she uncorked another and it meant 
he should have lots and lots of money, gold and 
pennies and nice clean paper money not wrinkled 
up a bit, the kind that cracks when you wag it. 
And then she got all in a hurry and made a mis- 
take and uncorked a big black jug and poured out 
a whole lot of bad temper all over the boy, and 
when he grew up, he was always cross.” 

Ruth pondered. 

“Ruth thinks that boy must have been you,” 
she observed at length. 

But Sidney asked, — 

“ Where did you get that story, Bungay ? ” 

Bungay paused in his chastisement of Ruth. 

“Did n’t get it anywhere. Wade told it to me, 
one day out in the hammock,” he answered. Then 
he fell upon Ruth and smote her with vigour. 

Ronald, meanwhile, had restored the horse and 
buckboard to their owner, and betaken himself to 
the river bank in search of Wade. 

“Sidney is ever so much better, to-day,” he 
remarked, without preface, as he dropped into 
the other hammock. 

“Yes, she is gaining fast. That first day, 
though, I thought it was all up with her.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


303 


“So did we all, I fancy. Well, it’s over 
now.” And Ronald stretched out his long legs 
and folded his arms under his head. 

“ Where have you been ? ” 

“Down the road as far as Chateau Richer. 
There was a huge pilgrimage coming in, as we 
passed Ste. Anne. Below there, do you know, 
the maples are all turning scarlet.” 

“I do know, worse luck I I saw them, yester- 
day.” 

“ What ’s your grievance against the maples ? ” 
Ronald queried placidly. 

“Paul’s school opens, on the fifteenth.” 

“Of course. We ’ll all be going, by that time; 
but what ’s the use of mourning ? There is always 
another summer. ” 

“You can’t always tell,” Wade observed 
gloomily. 

Without stirring otherwise, Ronald lifted his 
head over the edge of his hammock and stared at 
his companion. 

“ Oh, come down off your nerves, man I ” he 
adjured him. “ What have you been eating ? ” 

In spite of himself, Wade laughed at the dis- 
passionate tone. For the life of him, he could 
never lose his temper at the great, sunny-minded 
fellow who lectured him so roundly. 

“ The cud of discontent, I suspect, ” he replied. 


304 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“I should judge so, or something equally indi- 
gestible. What ’s the matter ? ” 

Wade’s answer was flat. 

“I don’t want to go home.”^ 

‘‘Stop here, then. Not that I supposed you 
were in love with the place, though.” 

“It’s not the place alone, though I do owe it 
something for the good it has done me. It is 
the people.” 

“Mayhap they ’ve done the good,” Ronald said 
shrewdly. “I should n’t much wonder.” 

Wade stared thoughtfully into the treetop above 
him. 

“Do you know, Goliath, I really hate to have 
the crowd break up.” 

Ronald nodded. 

“ So do I. There ’s no telling when we ’ll come 
together again. Still, I should n’t think it would 
make much difference to you. You take four of 
them home with you, and, to my certain knowl- 
edge, you have n’t said five hundred words to 
either Janet or Freda, this whole summer long. 
Therefore your regrets must be for either Sidney 
or me.” 

Wade laughed. 

“You are forgetting Bungay,” he suggested. 

“No such luck. Bungay generally succeeds in 
getting himself remembered. But, I say, Wade ? ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


305 


Wade brought his gaze down again from the 
treetops. 

“Say it, then, Goliath.’’ 

Eonald lifted himself on his elbow. 

“ Do you remember the day, in this very ham- 
mock, when you said you dreaded this other 
damsel ? ” he demanded. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what about now ? ” 

“Merely that I have changed my mind.” 

“Girl trick! ” Konald said derisively. 

“Not in the least. I never knew the damsel 
before. ” 

“You Americans never half know your rela- 
tions, anyway,” Ronald observed. “If you 
had n’t been ordered up here, you might never 
have seen your cousin at all.” 

“Very likely.” 

“ What a duffer you ’d have been ! ” Ronald’s 
tone was not critical, but merely reflective. 

“True, Goliath. Only,” Wade turned sharply 
on his side ; “ only, after all, I should have been 
better off in the long run.” 

“ I fail to see why. ” 

“Merely that she happens to be going to her 
home, not mine.” 

“Naturall}". Still, you can visit her. I only 
wish I were her cousin, too.” 

20 


306 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Wade looked keenly into the eyes which were 
watching him from above the edge of the other 
hammock. 

“Do you ? ” he asked quietly. 

The scarlet blood rushed up across Ronald’s 
face. Then he answered, with simple, earnest 
frankness, — 

“No; I do not. I’d rather have a free hand, 
unless — How do you — the men of your family, 
I mean — feel about the English ? ” 

Wade held out his hand. 

“We like to feel that they are our kin,” he 
answered, with equal simplicity. Then the sub- 
ject was dropped, for they felt that, in the years 
to come, each was sure of the understanding and 
sympathy of the other. 

The silence lengthened. Wade broke it. 

“ Talk about visiting them ! ” he said whimsi- 
cally. “Do you realize, Goliath, that there are 
five larger editions of Bungay at home ? ” 
“Unless some of them take after Sidney,” 
Ronald suggested. 

“ Sidney is unique. She is like her mother.” 

“ And the father ? ” 

“ Clever and erratic. ” 

“ What does he do ? ” 

“He is assistant editor of The Zeniih,^^ 

Ronald sat up alertly. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


307 


“There ’s your chance, Wade! ’’ 

“I fail to see it. ’’ 

“Write to him and ask him to get you an ap- 
pointment. ” 

Wade made a wry face. 

“It. has n’t quite come to that, Goliath.” 

“ Meaning ? ” Ronald queried. 

“ That I have to beg for work. ” 

“ What do you expect to do ? ” 

“Go on some paper or other. I owe you one 
for that idea, too. I like it — that is, if Dr. 
Cromwell — ” 

“He will,” Ronald supplemented promptly, for 
he had been seeing, for days, that Wade was 
holding all things as conditional upon the verdict 
that faced him, on the tenth, and he was quick 
to feel the bravery which the young man showed 
in bearing the strain of uncertainty. “ But where 
are you going to start ? ” 

“I have n’t the least idea.” 

“Time you had, then. There are a dozen good 
men for every good place. Your record in one 
line won’t help you in another, and you said, 
yourself,” Ronald felt that he was pushing his 
point a bit mercilessly ; “ that you wanted to go 
at something, as soon as you went home.” 

“I do; but I ’m not home yet.” 

“You will be, next week, though. Then what 
are you going to do ? ” 


808 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Wade turned again and surveyed him with 
mocking eyes. 

‘‘Hang it! Don’t be so strenuous, Goliath.” 

“It isn’t strenuousness; it is sense,” Ronald 
answered, as he sat up and brought his heels to 
the ground with a force which set the hammock 
to swinging. “You call yourself a lawyer; but 
you can’t see through a pane of glass, unless 
somebody holds up a candle on the other side. 
You say you want something to do. You know 
you don’t want to lose track of this cousin of 
yours. Then why in thunder don’t you write to 
her father and ask him to get you a place on his 
paper, where you can work when you like, and 
play with her, the rest of the time ? ” 

Wade pondered the question. Then he spoke. 

“Ronald Leslie, I am something of an idiot, 
myself. Thanks for the suggestion.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” Ronald asked, as his 
companion rose from the hammock. 

Wade’s answer came back over his shoulder. 

“Into the house. I am about to write to my 
uncle. Hold your peace, Goliath. Best say 
nothing, until we have heard from the doctor.” 

And Ronald, as he sat staring after the firm, 
erect figure, muttered to himself, — 

“Hang the doctor, anyhow! ” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


309 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 

H owever, it was unnecessary to hang the 
doctor. 

Sidney waked early, on the morning of the 
tenth, waked, as she had slept, with the vague, 
dull foreboding of what the day might hold in 
store. By tacit consent, the subject of Wade’s 
examination by the great specialist had been ig- 
nored in the family conversation. Nevertheless, 
he had spoken of it to Sidney once and yet again. 
She knew that he wished her, and her alone, to 
go with him to the city. She knew that upon 
Dr. Cromwell’s verdict he was staking all things: 
courage, hope, ambition, his very manhood. Ear- 
lier in the summer, he had spent weary hours of 
trying to resign himself to the thought of inaction. 
Then, under the spur of her own energy, he had 
revised his ideals to include such limited action 
as was within his power. She had no idea in 
what direction his work would turn. Ronald had 
kept his own counsel; she had heard nothing of 
the suggested reporting. Meanwhile, she realized 
only too well, just as Ronald had done, that Wade 


310 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


was drifting idly now, making no definite plans 
until he should know his fate. And, if that fate 
were evil, the girl felt instinctively that the blow 
would be the final one, that, condemned to inva- 
lidism, her cousin would condemn himself to 
apathy. 

Sidney was only sixteen. Her position at the 
top of the line of seven Stayres, however, had 
taught her to know something of humanity. She 
loved Wade altogether; she idealized him not at 
all. She simply knew that her cousin was a 
clever man whose life had been broken sharply in 
two; and, all summer long, she had adhered to 
her sturdy determination to force him to pick up 
the pieces and join them as best he might. Her 
own illness had changed her resolution not one 
whit. It had taught her the discomfort of pain, 
the absolute boredom of being idle and, most of 
all, the utter devotion of which her grown-up 
cousin had proved himself capable. She came 
out from her convalescence more resolved than 
ever to stand by Wade, to urge him to his best 
development and, if possible, to give to him one 
tenth the loyalty and care which he had lavished 
upon her. 

And then, all at once, she buried her head in 
the blanket and began to cry, not nervously, but 
in a quiet, lonesome fashion which was very 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


811 


dreary. At best or at worst, whatever the day 
might bring, the summer was almost at an end. 
And Paul, and Janet, and Ronald, and most of 
all Wade had become such important parts of her 
life ! It was a trick of Sidney Stayre’s to care 
intensely for those people to whom she gave her 
liking. Now she suddenly realized that, even in 
the absorbing interests of home and school, there 
was going to be room for much loneliness in her 
coming winter. 

The poplars, whispering outside her window, 
turned from gray to silver in the growing dawn, 
and Sidney, uncovering her head, lay staring at 
them, with a sense of shame for her momentary 
woe. At least, she had had her fun, had enjoyed 
it to the full, and people did not always forget, 
even when they were miles apart. It was possible 
that Auntie Jack would influence her mother to 
allow Ronald to write, as he had asked permission 
to do. As for Wade, he would come to New York 
now and then. Yet, even as she stoutly main- 
tained to herself that she really was not going to 
care, Sidney was acutely conscious that, daily and 
hourly, she would miss the companionship upon 
which she had learned to count, during all that 
idle summer. Even her accident had held its bit 
of pleasure. Without it, her happy-go-lucky tem- 
perament would have kept her from knowing what 


312 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


a loyal pair of friends she had won. With Wade 
at her side, and Ronald to come and go at her 
beck and call, the days had rushed swiftly along, 
and Sidney, in looking back upon her semi-inva- 
lidism, decided that it was rather good fun, now 
and then, to be obliged to lie up for repairs. 

But, meanwhile, there was Wade and his com- 
ing interview with the specialist. As she lay 
looking at the silvery poplars swaying and whis- 
pering in the dawn breeze aijd bending near to 
peer in at her through the open casement, the girl 
told herself that it was no time for her to be sel- 
fishly bemoaning the coming separation. The 
thing for her to do, was to be ready to brace 
Wade for his trip to town, to steady him to face 
the possible disappointment which might be await- 
ing him. 

“You dread it, Wade?’’ she had asked him, 
the night before. 

Refusing her suggestion of their customary 
game of chess, he had been pacing the floor with 
restless strides. At her question, he glanced 
up; but his face was grave to the point of utter 
sadness. 

“No, Sidney; I don’t dread it. I am deadly 
afraid.” 

She refused to yield her mood to his de- 
pression. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


313 


‘‘ But what is the difference ? ” she queried, 
laughing. 

“ Dread is vague. I know what I am afraid of,” 
he answered briefly. 

‘‘ I know. But you are so much better. ” 

Halting before her chair, he stood looking down 
at her with sombre eyes. 

“ Precisely, Tiddles. That is what has made a 
coward of me. ” 

‘‘I don’t see why.” 

His answer was pithy. 

“ A baby never cries for a toy, until you dangle 
it in front of his eyes. ” 

This time, Sidney’s laugh came without having 
to be forced. 

“Explain yourself, baby,” she advised him. 

“It explains itself. I have gained so much, 
this summer, Sidney, that I am beginning to 
wonder if those idiots of doctors knew what they 
were about.” 

“Possibly they knew so well that they have 
worked a complete cure,” she suggested, as she 
sat staring up at him, contrasting the man before 
her with the inert semi-invalid who had met her 
upon her arrival. 

“Not likely. It usually takes longer. But 
I ’ve been so much more alive lately that I have 
developed the notion that I ’ve gained a fresh lease 
of life.” 


814 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“Hold on to the notion, then,’’ she advised him. 

“ Yes ; that ’s what I have been doing. I’ve even 
gone ahead and made some plans. And now — ” 

“Now?” 

He walked swiftly to the farther corner of the 
room, then turned and walked back to her side. 

“Now I may have them all knocked in the 
head.” 

' “I don’t believe it,” she said sturdily, and her 
words were the true phrasing of her thought. 

“ But I believe it is better not to know,” he said 
slowly. 

She faced him. 

“I don’t, then. Anything is better than uncer- 
tainty.” 

“ It depends on the certainty. ” 

“It does not,” she flashed. “That’s sneaky, 
Wade, and not a bit like you. If you know what 
to expect, you can make your plans to fit it. If 
you can’t do one thing, you can always do some- 
thing else ; but how are you going to find out what 
the something else is, unless you know what it is 
you can’t do ? ” 

In spite of the trouble in his eyes, Wade 
laughed. 

“You’re getting beyond your depth, Tiddles,” 
he warned her. 

But her answer was intrepid. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


315 


“ What if I am ? I can always turn and swim 
ashore. And, as far as I am concerned, I ’d rather 
drown at sea than have a wave catch me sitting 
up on the bank. But look here, Wade, what 
about your common sense ? I don’t mean to be 
unsympathetic ; but are n’t you frightened at 
nothing ? ” 

“No; I’m not.” 

She looked up at him with merry, rebuking 
eyes. 

“You needn’t be testy about it,” she admon- 
ished him; “and you needn’t deny it, either, for 
it is true. You know you are better than you 
were; you know that, even at the worst, there 
was some fun still left in sight. You had made 
up your mind to that, and you were taking it as 
it came — ” 

“And it came to exactly two dollars and 
forty-seven cents, marked down from two-fifty,” 
Paul proclaimed, as he pranced into the room. 
“Hullo, Tiddles! What’s the matter? You 
look as if you were standing in the presence of a 
dentist.” 

“ Only of a depressed old cousin,” she answered, 
as she made room for the boy to seat himself on 
the arm of her chair. 

Paul smirked up at his older brother. 

“And what ’s the matter with you, Wadeikins ? 


316 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


Thinking on your sins and pondering your latter 
end ? ” he queried placidly. 

“ Exactly so. ” 

“ Then drop it. It ’s most unbecoming, for it 
makes your mustache sag at the corners. If your 
latter end is going to have this effect upon you, 
then try a new tack and fix your mind on the 
days when you were a pink and guileless baby. 
Tiddles, when are you going fishing ? ’’ 

‘‘ Whenever you say. ’’ 

“You’re able, honestly? Well, let’s go, to- 
morrow. ” 

“Wade and I are going in town,” she reminded 
him. 

“Oh, confound it! And there aren’t so many 
more days. We go, on the fourteenth; that’s 
Tuesday. Can’t you put off your trip in town ? ” 

“Wade has an appointment with Dr. Cromwell, 
you know.” 

“Sure. I forgot that. And you are going to 
see your own powderpilly, too. Well, make it 
the next day.” 

“Why don’t you ask Judith, too?” Sidney 
suggested. 

Paul drew down his mouth and spoke sedately. 

“Judith is a sweet girl and, in time, she may 
be good for something in the woods, if she keeps 
on improving. Still, I rather think I ’ll wait till 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


817 


next year, before I take her fishing. I say, 
Tids ? 

“ By all means. ” 

‘‘Resolved that we make np a party of three, 
to-morrow, and go up to town together. You 
might as well take me. I may have a lurking 
spine in my lungs, and need treatment. Besides, 
I want to get some moccasins and snowshoes and 
things. It is September now, and there is no 
telling when we ’ll get a blizzard. What do you 
think, Wadeikins ? Shall I go ? ” 

And Wade, as he looked at his jovial, hearty 
young brother, gave a cordial assent. Paul was 
never in the minor key. His irresponsible chatter 
would keep one from thinking of things and getting 
on one’s nerves. 

However, when Wade had gone away and left 
them, Paul’s hilarity dropped from him like the 
dropping of a mask. 

“Poor old Wadeikins!” he said, with real 
regret in the ring of his honest young voice and 
in the look of his honest gray eyes. “ It ’s hard 
lines, Tiddles, this standing on one leg, not dar- 
ing to step, until things have happened to show 
you whether it ’s worth while to step at all. I ’ll 
tell you what it is, we all fuss at Wade and 
fuss about him; but the honest fact is, the 
dear old chap has shown a whole lot more pluck 


318 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


than any of us have been willing to give him 
credit for.” 

He reiterated his phrase, next day, when he 
and Sidney were sitting together on the terrace, 
waiting for Wade to appear. With the apparent 
mercilessness of fate, there had been a long inter- 
val between the arrival of the train and the hour 
set for Wade’s visit to Dr. Cromwell. During 
this interval, Paul had been an invaluable mem- 
ber of the party. He had dragged them here to 
look at moccasins, there to buy snowshoes, some- 
where else to hunt for wholly mythical trout flies 
which, as he finally decided, did not exist. In 
each place, he had insisted on Wade’s inspecting 
the entire stock and passing judgment upon it, 
and his eager interest had ended by catching the 
sluggish attention of his half-brother and rousing 
it until it fairly matched his own. Even Sidney 
had been surprised when the clock on the city 
hall had struck the hour, and they had been 
forced to hasten their steps as they sought the 
Chateau. Her call upon her own doctor, mean- 
while, had been short and perfunctory. He had 
asked a dozen questions, pronounced himself 
satisfied and then turned to Wade. 

Ah, your American doctors are great lords of 
the land,” he said, with an odd little shrug of his 
shoulders. “ They come here on a vacation, and 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


319 


they refuse to see any sick. For me, it was to 
me that your American was sent ; but it was only 
in the midst of a drive to Lorette that I had the 
courage to tell him that I had spoken to you of 
his name. Will he then see you ? ” 

“ At twelve. ” 

“ It is well. They say, even in Paris, that his 
word is final. I know little of the lungs, myself. 
Nevertheless, I think you can have good courage. 

“And he has it,” Paul said thoughtfully, when 
he and Sidney were left alone. “I don’t think I 
gave him much credit for it, at first. I suppose 
it ’s because I did n’t know what really was the 
matter with him.” 

“ Does Judith know ? ” 

“I don’t think so; she’d never ask. I never 
could have found it out, if I had n’t wormed it out 
of mother. Do you imagine — ” 

She put up her hand. 

“Don’t, Paul! Let ’s not look ahead.” 

“That’s not your usual preachment,” he re- 
torted. 

“Not always; hut it is now. Instead, let’s 
look back and see how Wade has gained.” 

“ It ’s a whole lot, sure enough. When you 
came, he was mooning around in a hammock. 
I ’ll tell you what, Tids, you ’ve done something 
for that fellow.” 


320 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ Even if I did manage him ? ” she asked, 
laughing. 

Paul reddened. Then he laughed. 

‘‘Good for him that you did. Nobody else 
dared to. You know you did manage him, 
though. I wonder how he ’ll get on with- 
out it.” 

“ I wonder a good deal more how I shall get on 
without him,” she answered gravely. “It is going 
to be — ” 

But Paul had started to his feet and faced about 
sharply. 

“By Jove, here he comes!” he burst in excit- 
edly. “ Look at him, Tiddles 1 Look at the way 
he walks, by thunder! No need to ask him what 
the old duffer said.” 

At Paul’s side, Sidney sprang up with a little 
glad outcry. From far across the terrace, Wade 
was coming towards them, his step alert, his eyes 
alight, his shoulders thrown back and his head 
held high in the air. To those watching him, it 
was as if, during that past half hour, he had 
learned again to draw, deep and full, the breath 
of life itself. There was no need for words, as 
Paul had said. Nevertheless, while he was still 
at a distance from them, he spoke. 

“Tiddles,” he said; “it’s all right. Now, if 
I’ll go slowly, I can begin to live again.” 


ON THE ST LAWRENCE 


321 


She took an eager step forward and held out 
both her hands to his, outstretched to meet her. 
Her lashes were wet, as she lifted her eyes to his ; 
but her words were few. 

“Oh, Wade, I ’m so content.” 


21 


322 


SIDNEY: HER SU3IMER 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 

O N the third floor of the cottage, Judith 
was dismantling her room and stuffing her 
sofa pillows into the bottom of her trunk. Down- 
stairs, Mrs. Addison was sorting out the miscel- 
laneous possessions which Ruth had accumulated 
during the summer, while her own orderly trunks 
betrayed the fact that the flitting was near. It 
was the afternoon of the thirteenth. Early the 
next morning, the Americans were to start for 
the southward, leaving the Leslies to go back to 
town, the next day. 

Mrs. Addison’s face, as she glanced about her 
room, was supremely content. The summer had 
not been altogether an easy one. She had found 
it no slight test of her housewifely skill to manage 
her American establishment in that French com- 
munity; she had now and then been a little 
puzzled as to the best method of facing the fact 
that Sidney and Judith had not settled down into 
the intimacy for which she had hoped. Neverthe- 
less, she was wholly glad for what the summer 
had brought her, wholly glad that she had in- 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


323 


eluded Sidney in forming her summer plans. 
For Wade’s sake alone, the girl’s blithe presence 
would have been worth the while. 

Married at eighteen and a mother at twenty, 
Mrs. Addison loved her first-born son with a de- 
votion which she had given to none of her other 
children. It was as if, when Wade’s father had 
died, she had made over to her little son the love 
which she had borne his father. Later, when the 
other children were young, Wade had been pass- 
ing through his college life, and, always mature, 
he had given her a sympathy and understanding 
like that of a younger brother. 

To Mrs. Addison’s mind, it had seemed the 
only possible course open to her that she should 
follow the doctor’s suggestion of a summer in the 
cool north-land; but she had followed it with a 
dull foreboding that nothing could check the in- 
evitable disease which they feared had fastened 
upon her son. Contrary to her expectations, 
however, her son had gained beyond belief. 
From week to week, and then almost from day 
to day, the change had become manifest. And 
Mrs. Addison, in looking backward, felt that 
Sidney and even Ronald had had no small share 
in working the good. It mattered little, then, 
that Judith and Sidney had failed to hit it off 
together. That could come later. 


324 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


All day long on the tenth, Mrs. Addison had 
worked with a nervous fury. It seemed to her 
that the hours would never pass ; yet she had felt, 
with Wade, that it was better by far that she 
should not go with him up to town. For the time 
being, her nerves had gained the upper hand; 
Sidney’s gay presence and Paul’s buoyancy were 
far better for Wade, just then, than even her 
motherly sympathy. Two days before, he had 
talked ^e matter over with her, quietly and at 
great length. She knew the strain he was under, 
was forcing himself to meet with outward calm- 
ness; and bravely she resolved to hold herself 
steady, and so to help him meet his crisis. To 
neither one of them did it occur to doubt that the 
verdict, that day, would be final. 

She was pacing the platform of the station, a 
full half hour before the train was due, and 
Ronald and Janet were one on either side of her. 
Janet was excited; but Ronald talked calmly of 
this thing and that, forcing her to an intermittent 
attention which broke the edges of the strain. 
And at last the train had come buzzing down the 
track, and, as far away as she could see, Paul’s 
hat was waving at her with a vigour which could 
not fail to be the token of good news. 

‘‘Yes,” Wade said, as they walked away up the 
road together; “the worst danger is over. He 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


325 


wants to keep watch of me, for a year or so, and 
he forbids my going into office work. That’s 
rather bad, I know; but I can find something 
else to do. For the rest, I can live like a human 
being, start into light work of some kind or other, 
and begin to take a rational interest in things 
once more. In other words, I am well ; and, if I 
take any sort of care of myself, I shall be strong 
again before I know it.” Then he paused and 
smiled down into her happy face. “Lut who 
knows,” he added; “what might have been, if 
you had n’t made a martyr of yourself in the wil- 
derness, this summer ? ” 

“No martyr and no wilderness, Wade,” she 
answered. “ But, even if it had been both, it all 
would have been well worth the while.” 

And now, the summer over, she was content- 
edly packing her belongings and looking forward 
to the hour when her great, blond husband should 
meet them in the North Station at home. 

Janet and Sidney, meanwhile, were sitting on 
the river bank, talking fitfully while they watched 
the eddying current make its way downward among 
the rocks in its course. Sidney’s packing was 
done. Janet’s was still to do. She had an idea 
that she would need its interest, in the lonely day 
which was bound to follow the departure of the 
others. 


326 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“It’s all so tiresome,” she burst out at last. 
“Three months ago, I never even heard of you. 
Now I am going to miss you, all the time. I 
never supposed I could care for Americans like 
this.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Oh, I supposed they were — different. I wish 
you were. Then I should n’t miss you half so 
much. ” 

“But Auntie Jack has asked you down for 
Christmas,” Sidney suggested consolingly. 

J anet gave her one glance, half of woe, half of 
rebuke. 

“But it won’t be you,” she said. 

“No; of course not. I wish it would, for I’d 
like to be there, too. But it will be Judith and 
Paul.” 

Janet nodded. 

'“Yes, Paul,” she conceded grudgingly. 

“And Judith. She ’s your chum,” Sidney pur- 
sued thoughtfully. 

Janet cocked her head on one side. 

“ Who told you so ? ” 

“Judith.” 

“When?” 

“Why, let me see. It must have been the 
night I came.” 

“Oh,” Janet observed demurely. “Well, that. 


ON THE ST LAWRENCE 


327 


accounts. ” But no persuasion could tempt her to 
explain her phrase. 

“ What are you going to do, this winter ? ” 
Sidney asked, after a pause. 

“ Go back to the convent. ” 

“You like it?’^ 

“ Of course. All the girls go, and the nuns are 
dears, except when we break the rules. What 
shall you do ? ” 

“Go to school, and play basket ball, and do 
lessons, and give plays, and mend the family 
stockings,’’ Sidney said comprehensively. 

“ Is that all ? Then you will be so busy that 
you won’t have any time to miss us.” 

“Won’t I!” Sidney’s sigh was a bit tragic. 
Then she asked abruptly, “Janet, why don’t you 
tease your mother to let you go to college ? ” 

Janet raised her brows. 

“I don’t think Canadian girls do that.” 

“ What do they do ? ” 

“Get married, or else go as trained nurses.” 

Sidney made a wry face. 

“ How horrid ! The nursing, I mean. I ’d 
much rather go to college.” 

“ What ’s the use ? ” Janet demanded practically. 

“Use I You learn to be something or other, 
and you have a perfectly glorious time while 
you ’re learning it. Try it and see. But here 


328 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


come Paul and Ronald/’ And Sidney rose to 
meet them, wholly unconscious that she had 
dropped into Janet’s mind the germ of a new 
idea which was destined to bear much fruit. 

Paul hailed them from afar. 

‘‘Mingling your tears over your coming sepa- 
ration ? What ’s the good ? ” he asked affably. 
“It’s an awful waste of good time, Janet. You 
can cry, after we are gone. Come along up to 
the dam and catch some final fishes.” 

Janet rose alertly and turned to follow him, 
while Ronald dropped down on the grass at 
Sidney’s side. His handsome, eager face was 
unusually grave, and his words halted a little 
now and then ; but he sat there long, while they 
talked quietly of the summer, of the good times 
they had enjoyed together, and even of the hours 
they had spent there beside the river, growing 
better acquainted than ever before in the enforced 
idleness of Sidney’s short convalescence. 

“ And it ’s all been good fun, Mamzelle Peeka- 
boo,” the young fellow said at length, and there 
was a ring of honest, earnest liking in his voice. 
“ It is about ended now ; but perhaps, if you ’re 
willing, we may see each other again sometime. 
And, anyhow, we ’ve been good chums, this sum- 
mer, and that is something we ’ve got for sure, 
and no one can take it away.” 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 


329 


And Sidney looked up into his clean, dark eyes 
gravely, but as simply as she might have looked 
into Janet’s own. 

‘‘But, Ronald,” she said slowly; “I don’t think 
any one wants to take it away. ” 

He started to reply. Then he checked himself, 
for Wade was coming towards them, an open 
letter in his hand. 

“ So there you are ! ” he called. “ I have been 
hunting for you, Tiddles.” 

“ Does that mean you ’d like me to abdicate ? ” 
Ronald queried placidly, as Wade dropped down 
at his cousin’s side. 

“ Of course not, Goliath. In fact, 1 want you, 
too, for I ’ve a general notion that you will be 
interested in the news I have to impart. But, 
Tiddles, how many of you Stayres are you ? ” 

“ ‘ We are seven,’ ” she quoted merrily. “You 
ought to know the number of your own cousins, 
Wade.” 

“ So I ought. Seven ! That ’s an awful num- 
ber. Do they fill up the house rather well ? ” 

“Cramming,” Sidney said tersely. “You 
should see it.” 

“I hope to see it, some day,” he answered. 
“Then there isn’t room for any more?” 

She looked up at him sharply. Then her colour 


came. 


330 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


“ That depends. What is your letter ? ’’ 

“Business. Pleasure before business, Sidney. 
Has it ever occurred to you that you would like 
another brother ? ” 

“No; I would rather have an old cousin who is 
a wretched tease. Give me that letter! ’’ 

Evading her snatching fingers, he tossed the 
letter across to Bonald. 

“ What do you think of that, Goliath ? ’’ 

Ronald read the letter. Then he gave terse 
answer, — 

“ Did n’t I tell you so ? ” 

“Methinks you did. I was going to give you 
credit, when the proper time came. You ’re 
not half bad, Goliath. What’s the matter, 
Tiddles ? ” 

Laughing, breathless, she struggled to free her 
wrists from his grasp. Then she gave up the 
attempt. 

“But that is my father’s writing,” she gasped. 

“Yes.” 

“ What does he say ? ” 

“ Business, Sidney. Also news.” 

“ Bad, or good ? ” she demanded. 

He smiled whimsically down into her flushed 
and eager face. 

“Good for me. For you, I am rather afraid 
you may think it is bad.” 


ON THE ST, LAWRENCE 


331 


“ Oh, what ? ” she said, with an imperiousness 
which was not wholly free from anxiety. 

And Wade, watching her face, saw that he had 
parried long enough. Dropping her hands, he 
spoke quietly. 

“ It is nothing to alarm you, Tiddles. In fact, 
I have rather hoped you might not mind the idea. 
Your father has written to me, to tell me that I 
am to take a position on The Zenith^ next week, 
and that, for the present, at least, I am to live 
in your home.” 

Sidney caught her breath sharply. Then 
sharply her fingers shut on his outstretched 
hand. 

“Oh, Wade!” she said. But Wade, looking 
down into her clear gray eyes felt there was no 
need for many words. 

And Ronald, half envious, and wholly pleased 
at the wisdom of his own suggestion, of a sudden 
found it hard to break the silence. Once he at- 
tempted it, and yet again. Then the need was 
taken from him. Down the path from the cottage 
came Bungay, with Jumbo in his arms and Ruth 
following close at his heels. Bungay’s hair was 
rampant, his tone like a clarion of war. 

“Sidney, I want my xylophone, quick! You 
packed it all up in the bag, and now I must have 
it to sing to Jumbo on. Ruth slapped Jumbo, 


332 


SIDNEY: HER SUMMER 


and he ’s cried till he ’s ’most sick, she hurt him 
so.” 

And Ruth made warlike answer, — 

“Did not slap him, too, Bungay Stayre! He 
stepped on own best doll and made her all muddy, 
and Ruth ’s glad you ’re going home, so there ! ” 
But Bungay faced about, laid Jumbo tenderly 
down on the long, soft grass and, as upon one 
former occasion, he hooked his little fingers into 
the outer corners of his eyes, his thumbs into the 
outer corners of his lips, and waggled his tongue 
derisively. Then he made final unanswerable 
answer, — 

“Huh, goop! Auntie Jack ’s asked me to come 
again. ” 


THE END 


•» 


ANNA CHAPIN RAY’S 

“TEDDY” STORIES 


Miss Ray’s work draws instant comparison with the best of Miss Alcott’s: first, 
because she has the same genuine sympathy with boy and girl life ; secondly, 
because she creates real characters, individual and natural, like the young people 
one knows, actually working out the same kind of problems ; and, finally, because 
her style of writing is equally unaffected and straightforward. — Christian Register^ 
Boston. 


TKDDY : HER BOOK. A Story of Sweet Sixteen 
Illustrated by Vesper L. George. i2mo. $1.50. 

This bewitching story of “Sweet Sixteen,” with its earnestness, impetuosity, 
merry pranks, and unconscious love for her hero, has the same spring-like charm. — 
Kate Sanborn, 

PHEBE: HER PROFESSION. to“Teddy: 

Her Book” 

Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. i2mo. $1.50. 

This is one of the few books written for young people in which there is to be 
found the same vigor and grace that one demands in a good story for older people. 
— Worcester S/y, 

TEDDY: HER DAUGHTER 

A Sequel to “Teddy: Her Book,” and “Phebe: Her Profession” 
Illustrated by J. B. Graff. i2mo. $1.50. 

It is a human story, all the characters breathing life and activity. — Buffalo Times. 

NATHALIE’S CHUM 

Illustrated by Ellen Bernard Thompson. i2mo. $1.50. 

Nathalie is the sort of a young girl whom other girls like to read about. — Hartford 
Courant. 

URSULA’S FRESHMAN. A Sequel to “Nathalie’s Chum” 
Illustrated by Harriet Roosevelt Richards. i2mo. $1.50. 

The best of a series already the best of its kind. — Boston Herald. 

NATHALIE’S SISTER. 

1X1 Ail 

Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens. i2mo. $1.50. 

Peggy, the heroine, is a most original little lady who says and does all sorts of 
interesting things. She has pluck and spirit, and a temper, but she is very lovable, 
and girls will find her delightful to read about. — Louisville Evening Post. 


LITTLE, BROWN, ^ COMPANY, Publishers 

254 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 


THE 


TEDDY” STORIES 


C C 


As a writer of pleasant, wholesome, entertaining books for 
girls and boys, the press is unanimous in the opinion that 
Miss Ray has achieved a decided success in “Teddy: Her 
Book,” and “Phebe: Her Profession,” “Teddy: Her 
Daughter,” and her later “Teddy” stories. 

’The Neav York Tribune says : “ In ‘ Phebe: Her Profession,’ we are 
reintroduced to the lively and sometimes eccentric McAlister family. 
It is a sparkling story, showing In its author a quick sense of humor 
and much shrewd observation of human nature.” 

The Pilgrim Teacher pronounces “Phebe; Her Profession,” “one 
of the very best young people’s books of this or any other year,” and 
says, “ We have never seen a book In which, without the least tinge 
of cheap sentimentality, the great influence of a bright, healthy girl over 
her boy friends was so well set forth.” 

The Nenxj York Commercial Ad<vertiser says : “ In ‘ Teddy; Her Book,’ 
Anna Chapin Ray has appealed to that eternal youth which dwells 
somewhere in the heart of each one of us.” 

The Boston Herald says ; “If there were more girls In real life like the 
heroine of ‘Teddy; Her Book,’ the world would be a different place. 
She is as full of fun as she can be, sympathetic, gentle, and jolly, a 
perfect romp, yet thoroughly womanly and loyal.” 

The Detroit Free Press terms it “ a bright and spirited story for boys 
and girls and The Denver Times says, “The story is charmingly 
told, thoroughly wholesome.” 

Kate Sanborn writes that “ ‘ Teddy; Her Book ’ Is as good as ‘ Little 
Women,’ and what can be higher praise ? This bewitching story of 
‘ Sweet Sixteen,’ with its earnestness, impetuosity, merry pranks, and 
unconscious love for her hero, has the same spring-like charm.” 

“A charming and life-like story,” is the opinion of The St. Paul Pioneer 
Press. “ . . . The youthful types presented are very natural and 
vigorous, the action energetic, and the sentiment entirely wholesome.” 


LITTLE, BROWN, & COMPANY 

254 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON 


HELEN LEAH REED’S 

“BRENDA” BOOKS 


BRENDA, HER SCHOOL AND HER CLUB 

Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith. i2mo. $1.50. 

The Boston Herald says : “ Miss Reed’s girls have all the impulses and likes of 
real girls as their characters are developing, and her record of their thoughts and 
actions reads like a chapter snatched from the page of life. It is bright, genial, 
merry, wholesome, and full of good characterizations.” 

BRENDA’S SUMMER AT ROCKLEY 

Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith. i2mo. $1.50. 

A charming picture of vacation life along the famous North Shore of Massachu- 
setts. 

The Outlook says: ” The author is one of the best equipped of our writers for 
girls of larger growth. Her stories are strong, intelligent, and wholesome.” 

BRENDA’S COUSIN AT RADCLIFFE 

Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens. i2mo. $1.50. 

A remarkably real and fascinating story of a college girl’s career, excelling in 
interest Miss Reed’s first ” Brenda ” book. The Providence News says of it: 
” No better college story has been written.” The author is a graduate of Radcliffe 
College which she describes. 

BRENDA’S BARGAIN 

Illustrated. i2mo. $1.50. 

“The fourth and last of the ‘Brenda’ books,” says The Bookman^ “deals with 
social settlement work, under conditions with which the author is familiar.” The 
Boston Transcript adds : “ This book is by far the best of the series.” 


LITTLE, BROWN, ^ COMPANY, Publishers 

254 WASHINGTON ST., BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 


New Illustrated Editions of 
Miss Alcott’s Famous Stories 


THE LITTLE WOMEN SERIES 

By Louisa M. Alcott. Illustrated Edition. With eighty-four 
full-page plates from drawings especially made for this edition by 
Reginald B. Birch, Alice Barber Stephens, Jessie Willcox Smith, 
and Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 8vols. Crown 8vo. Decorated 
cloth, gilt, in box, $16.00. 


Separately as follows: 


1. LITTLE MEN : Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys 

With 15 full-page illustrations by Reginald B. Birch. $2.00. 

2. LITTLE WOMEN : or Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy 

With 15 full-page illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens. ^2.00. 

3. AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL 

With 12 full-page pictures by Jessie Willcox Smith. $2.00. 

4. JO’S BOYS, and How They Turned Out 

A Sequel to “ Little Men.” With 10 full-page plates by Ellen Wetherald 
Ahrens. I2.00. 

5. EIGHT COUSINS ; or, the Aunt-Hill 

with 8 full-page pictures by Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 

6. ROSE IN BLOOM 

A Sequel to “ Eight Cousins.” With 8 full-page pictures by Harriet 
Roosevelt Richards. $2.00. 

7. UNDER THE LILACS 

With 8 original full-page pictures by Alice Barber Stephens. $2.00. 

8. JACK AND JILL 

With 8 full-page pictures from drawings by Harriet Roosevelt Richards. 
$2.00. 

The artists selected to illustrate have caught the spirit of the originals and contributed a 
series of strikingly beautiful and faithful pictures of the author’s characters and scenes. — 
Boston Herald. 

Alice Barber Stephens, who is very near the head of American illustrators, has shown 
wonderful ability in delineating the characters and costumes for “Little Women.” They are 
almost startlingly realistic. — Worcester Spy. 

Miss Alcott’s books have never before had such an attractive typographical dress as the 
present. They are printed in large type on heavy paper, artistically bound, and illustrated 
with many full-page drawings. — Philadelphia Press. 


LITTLE, BROWN, Gf COMPANY 


shers, 154 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS. 



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